Wisdom From The Dark
by Jyrnn
Summary: Alternate 5th Year: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand. Durmstrang will offer much mystery
1. Chapter 1: The Dark Of Night

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 01  
Author: Jyrnn Spoilers: All four books. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter One: Prologue - The Dark of Night.  
  
The dull thumping of heavy footsteps disturbed him. As muffled as they were, he could instantly tell the character and intent of the foot's owner. He wore a heavy boot, an article of footwear which was strictly forbidden by his Aunt Petunia inside her home. She wouldn't have any scuff marks or loud clumping in her halls thank you very much. Obviously the footsteps were made by a stranger. A stranger walked about the house in the dead of night. Instantly any drowsiness left Harry Potter and was replaced by a hollow ache, an ache with which he was now intimately acquainted: fear.  
  
The summer after his fourth year at Hogwarts had been painful for him. His sleep was fitful when it claimed him at all. His waking moments were racked with guilt. The memory of Cedric Diggory haunted him, plaguing him with frustration and despair. He obeyed the Dursley's demands with little comment, in fact he did everything with little comment. Silence was painful and his psyche wished him to suffer. The letters from Sirius and Dumbledore attempted tried to absolve him from blame, but Harry knew otherwise. He knew of the accusation in Amos Diggory's eyes and the suspicion behind Cho Chang's tears. He knew his guilt from his night terrors and his feelings of powerlessness. Whenever he'd close his eyes he could still see the foul thing that was reborn from his blood. The thing reborn with a purpose thick with hate and madness. For this thing , above all others, Harry knew his shame and it was immense. His penance thus far had been imprisonment beneath the stairs, not that his relatives knew anything about the Third Task. Some imagined slight or merely his very existence earned him punishment with the Dursley residence. Such was to be expected from his relations. Harry would not complain, not this summer. He felt he deserved it in some small way. Cedric would never walk free; never enjoy the pleasures of life. What cause had he to shirk from a loss of liberty in the face of his rival's loss of life. Oddly enough, it was this exile which saved his life.  
  
The steps had grown more rapid. Their volume faded and amplified as they traveled further from and closer to Harry's childhood chamber. The situation would have been humorous if Harry's peril was not so apparent. Instinctively Harry knew he was the strangers quarry. He also reasoned that only one kind of person would venture unannounced into the heart of suburban Surrey for The Boy Who Lived. An enemy. A Deatheater. Like the rabbit who notices the wolf first, Harry's body tensed for flight yet remained petrified with fear. He had no illusions, no his encounter with Voldemort had stripped him of Gryffindor dreams. To run would be death. To stay would be death. To fight would be death. Forced into a situation beyond his control, the weary fifteen year old raged at the injustice.  
  
"I'm just bloody kid" he muttered under his breath, voice ruff from the summer's disuse. As the word left his lips he was already winching. They sounded so weak. His thoughts betrayed him, proved his enemies right. Malfoy's constant litany of barbs at his unwanted fame, Snape's condescending sneers at his family, and the wizarding world's breathless anticipation of his failure all seemed deserved when he whined as he had just done. Then, at that moment when he silently commanded himself to grow up, he experienced an epiphany.  
  
It was inaction which fettered him. Harry had never really instigated anything. He merely reacted and endured. His helplessness was perpetuated by youth and obliviousness. Ignorance had been the refuge into which Dumbledore had thrust him. The price for protection was stagnation. Each truth he discovered chaffed painfully at the veil of fabrications which made his identity. He didn't know anything. Pictures and tales were all he had of his parents and his childhood ended with the first swipe Uncle Vernon took at him. He had lived as a wounded puppy, latching on to all that surrounded him, all because he was just so damn passive. The irony was that no choice was actually a choice in itself. Harry didn't want to be a sheep any longer. He would take responsibility for the chaos swirling around his life by ending it.  
  
He stood, and as he did, the Deatheater had begun his ascent up the staircase. He was directly above the young wizard. As near as he was, Harry could hear the rustle of silk and leather robes as he ghosted to the next level of 4 Privet Drive. Harry waited. This time not because fear or helplessness, but because of caution. He lay in wait instead of being stricken by fear.  
  
Its amazing how advice can come from the most unlikely of sources. His sudden outlook was inspired by one man, though at time he uttered his credo he was actually two men. Yes, Harry's dogma was now shaped by the words of the darkest wizard ever to grace Britain. It was amazing that in a moment of fear an eleven year could wrest the wisdom from the words of a mad man. It was even more amazing that he could recall it at such a stressful moment. Voldemort had said, "There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it." A shocking realization dawned on Harry Potter, he owed Voldemort gratitude for his words. "Power and those too weak to seek it." Harry could feel the importance of this as the Deatheater stalked up the staircase. A grim smile touched the lithe boy's face as he pondered his course of action. He would seek it. He would seek power. What was Harry if not the youngest Seeker in a century? Not only would he look but he would find. First, though, he had an obstacle to overcome. Offering a silent thanks to Tom Riddle, he took up he chosen weapons. Cloak, broom and wand at the ready, young Harry poised to do battle.  
  
Authors Notes:  
I only did a cursory re-edit, adding a few more sentences and fixing the damn ugly formatting that had existed before in the original post. It's a token effort at best but maybe it will make a better first impression this time around. I don't want to alter it too much because its prologue and isn't supposed to cover too much. The epiphany was all that really mattered anyhow. 


	2. Chapter 2: Cut Quickly or Not At All

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 02  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter Two: Cut Quickly or Not at All  
  
Harry had already mounted his broom when he nudged the closet door open, and hovered, gently bobbing in the dim night. Each heavy step only fueled the young wizards growing resolve, while he floated, invisible under his father's cloak on the precipice between calmness and action. He waited for the intruder to touch the other creaky step. His patience was rewarded when a loud creak shattered the night air. A short burst of profanity erupted from the Death Eater as a louder and longer burst of profanity came from Vernon and Petunia's room.  
  
"What are you doing boy!" bellowed Vernon Dursley, always quick to scold his burdensome nephew. The Death Eater, jumpy already from his frustrating incursion was shocked by the penetrating shout of Harry's Muggle uncle. He stumbled and fell prone across the stairs. This is what Harry expected and needed. He exploded out of the cupboard under the stairs an into action at last. Confident on his broom he idly thought of another of his unlikely advisors. Bartimus Crouch Jr. had told him to play to his strengths and he planned to do just that. Weaving tightly around the bannister he kicked off the wall to complete a tight 180 degree turn. Veering precisely up he shot towards the back of the rising Death eater. A Firebolt has an acceleration of fifteen miles per second. It took less than fraction of that time for Harry to close the distant between him and his foe.  
  
Harry lanced towards his enemy and impacted bodily against the large Death eater, stealing the dark figures breath and precious seconds. He continued his ascent and accelerated even faster down the shadowy upstairs hall. His purpose was not escape, he needed more speed to properly subdue his assailant. With a skill born from Oliver Woods insane Quidditch drills he half leap, half twisted from the top of his broom and using his nimble fee, pointed the business end of his broom back the way he came. In mid-air he quickly remounted his broom and held on tightly. Harry's body shook with the rapid halt the broom made as he attempted aerial feats undreamed by the craftsmen and seeker alike. He drifted lazily backward as he waited for the force of the building acceleration to overecome his prior momentum and was gratified with the dramatic results of his gambit. The Firebolt, and him with it, quite violently exploded with forward force. The upstairs level of his Uncle's house blurred as he hurtled and bucked down the hall down towards the staircase. His invisible garment billowed behind him and flapped loudly in the wake of his passage.  
  
To the Death eater, Harry appeared as vengeful phantom. In the short time since he had been speared by the young wizards initial strike he had managed to catch his breath and shakily erect himself with the help of the stair railing. When the shimmering form of his target shrieked towards again he could only gape at the turn of events. Every fraction of second brought Harry closer to the dark wizard, every breath brought the pair closer to a violent clash. The Death eater reached desperately for his wand but his efforts were in futile when Harry swerved up and around the Death Eaters shoulder and caught the man square in the chin with the full force of a speeding firebolt behind it. The blow rocked the dark wizard back and sent him flying in the air, his shout of startled pain roaring into the calm Surrey night.  
  
Instead of allowing the intruder to fall clear and roll down the stairs, he guided his dive so that he could nudge the fellow towards the rail. With an out thrust foot he hooked the man's head and pressed it onto he rail with his shin. Then Harry allowed the force of his dive to carry him to the landing. It was a dangerous move but the only one in his power to effectively dispatch the man. Anxious as he was, Harry counted his heartbeats as he and his foe plummeted to the bottom of the stairs with reckless speed. During first beat he glanced at is foe and heard the unearthly squeal of flesh against polished wood. During second beat he felt something in his leg tear as the dead weight under it resisted being dragged down the banister. In the third and final rapid heart beat he felt his own frame and the staircase shake as the face of the Death eater collided with Aunt Petunia's gaudy newel. The bulbous wooden ornament at the foot of the staircase splintered with the sheer power of the collision and caused the ghastly mask of the dark wizard to fragment.  
  
Harry too was affected by the impact. So great was the force that he lost grip on his broom and pitched forward in a rather graceless somersault. The broom stabbed into the white plaster wall and quivered like a arrow after making its mark. The boy wizard slide across th linoleum and panted with both exertion and relief. The intruder had sunk into unconsciousness and was sprawled awkwardly on the stairs, his upper half against the shaking bannister. The pain in his leg was a dull throb but it was of no real consequence. Harry had long become accustomed to physical pain and he ignored it as he curled himself in to a ball and wrapped himself in the soft, whispering fabric of his cloak. His hand found where he had tucked his wand and he drew it. Veiled in the translucent clothe, he was ready to fire off a charm if his vanquished foe every stood up again.  
  
During that space when he sat waiting, deciding what he would do if another Death eater came or if the one before him stirred he lost track of time. It seemed an eternity but it could have been mere minutes when a bellowed Alohamora all but torn the door off 4 Privet Drive. A flood of Ministry officials arrived to see the prone form of a Death Eater and the half-visible shape of Harry Potter pointing his wand at any who came his way.  
  
End 2.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Well after a hiatus the next chapter of my fic. Exams and general university madness distracted me from any writing that didn't have a due date, but I figure that if I want to establish something before J. K Rowling releases The Order of the Phoenix this month I better get down to work. Oh and a special thanks to my two reviewers Nighttime Sunshine, author of the rather bitchin "Like a Phoenix He Shall Rise, and also Peeweepotter. I'd all but given up on fic but I rechecked my reviews last night and here you go. Oh and apparently a newel is those ornamental things on the corner and end parts of a staircase rail. R/R 


	3. Chapter 3: Bars of Lies

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 03  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 3: Bars of Lies and Walls of Red Tape Do a Prison Make  
  
Arthur Weasley was angry. Now he was not one who normally was given to bouts of rage but with a boss like Cornelius Fudge one can hardly blame him. It seems that his personal assistant, Gavin Falstaff had infiltrated Harry Potter's home, under cover of darkness and who knew what black sorcery, in the traditional disguise of a Death Eater. When this news had reached the ears of the Minister he had ordered a complete news black out and wisked both Falstaff and young Harry off for "protective custody." All he could get from the Minster before the Floo gate was closed in his face was that this was a "sensitive issue and needed to be treated with due discretion." Arthur did not know what irked him more, that Fudge was so blatantly hushing up his aide's status as a Death Eater or that he had taken Harry away.  
  
He'd been first man in the door to Privet Drive after the initial Aurors. After Ginny had that close call with the Chamber of Secrets Arthur had requested his name be but on the list of watch dogs who were to be alerted when Privet was invaded. He felt he owed it to the boy who had saved his daughter and who and nothing himself. Not a wizards debt in the traditional sense, but a fathers debt nonetheless. So it was for this reason that when the wards had been breeched by Falstaff's incursion Arthur had immediately Apparated to Surrey. When he finally got a look at Harry, after examining the damage inflicted upon Fudge's aide, he was shocked that boy appeared neither scared nor shocked. It was almost surreal how calm the boy took the questions of the aurors. To Arthur it had seemed that that thrice damned tournament had purged Harry of any childishness that he possessed.   
  
For not the first time he ran a hand through his thinning hair and moaned in exasperation. Just before sunrise Fudge's cabal of lawyers had swooped in and from there on he had been unreachable. Fudge had something brewing and Arthur didn't like it. No man needed this many lawyers for simple and easy charge, Fudge was busy and things were about to get difficult. Arthur sighed and looked at the clock, half past six. If he hurried home he could eat and dart back with a full stomach before had to witness the unpleasantness forming on the horizon.  
  
***  
  
The inquisitor was rapping his fingers on the cold steal table. Every three seconds his thick fingers beat out a simple triple beat and then he would stop. He was waiting for an answer to a question Harry couldn't remember him asking. With a languid twist of his tired head Harry took in his surroundings. Cold and dull, the metallic interrogation room of the Ministry was a testament to sterile decorating. The sheer immaculate cleanliness painted an austere picture, designed to portray both the power and resolve of the British wizarding government. As he pondered this, Harry noticed that the questioners triple beat at increased in frequency. He was impatient.  
  
Through a sigh Harry asked the man to repeat his question. With an arch brow and a disapproving stare he repeated, "Mr. Potter, why did you feel it necessary to assault the Minster's aide? I remind you that any further resistance can been viewed as obstruction of Justice. It is best, for your own sake, that you give me a statement." The man leaned forward and rested his face on his interlaced fingers, his tinted spectacles gleaming diabolically in the magically simulated halogen light of the room.  
  
The man's condescending manner had irked Harry through out the course of the interview. He had sat here the past four hours without break, listening as this man Dawkins spun elaborate lie after lie explaining why poor Harry Potter had "snapped. Harry finally lost his patience and responded coldly, "If the man who invaded my relatives' home dressed as a Death Eater was Gavin Falstaff, then I was defending myself." By means of reply Dawkins merely gave a sorrowful tsking noise  
  
"I'm afraid if you persist with these wild allegations I can not help you." He made a show of examining the file in front of him as if he really gave damn about Harry. "Official reports about the assault and the sworn statements of THREE Ministry officials deny any evidence of so-called Death Eater activity. Your spewing smoke Mr. Potter and your fame is not going to let you escape this time." Dawkins leaned over the space intervening between Harry and himself. His face bore a slight smile but his eyes shone with malice. "I have made a career out of using liars' words against them. Your out your element, Mr. Potter and I suggest you rethink your story. Is it possible that Majordomo Falstaff caught you in the act of underage wizardry or perhaps tormenting your muggle cousin?" He sat back, seemingly satisfied that his words had intimated the fifteen year old.  
  
Harry's response was unexpected. "Which three?"  
  
Flustered, Dawkins lost his calculate poise and stammered, "W-What?"  
  
Harry responded with a flat voice saying, "Which three officials?"  
  
He flushed with surprise at the sudden shift in conversation. Flipping through the reports in front of him he managed to unearth the correct document. "Err...Avery, Boot and Nott. Impecable reputations and valued officers of the Ministry." These words seemed to reassure him and he drew strength from them. Harry's eyes had widened at the second name and Dawkins mistook that as sign of fear. "Well Potter, the evidence against you is without blemish. Anything to say now. Hmm?"  
  
Harry swallowed a rising surge of bile of bile in his throat. Death Eaters were covering for Death Eaters at the ministry. He could be surrounded by enemies and not know it. "I think I need to speak with a lawyer before I say anything more." After that he fell silent and looked intensely at Dawkins.  
  
"Well, if that's they way you feel I'm afraid your non-compliance does not bode well for your case Mr. Potter." With that Dawkins rose and donned a mask of pity, yet inside he shook with triumph. *I got the little brat scared now.* Instead of this though he said in way of parting, "Good Day, Mr. Potter." This type of verbal dominance was the reason for Malcolm Dawkins lived. *Yes sir, a fine mornings work, Potter will fold by dinner and then Fudge will owe me big-time.* His self-assured plans aside, he could help but be unnerved by the piercing stare of his quarry. *Boys just too calm to be innocent*  
  
***  
  
Percy Weasley was tried. After last springs debacle with Minster Crouch and his futile effort at running the Department of International Magical Co-Operation, Percy had been quietly shunted off into Magical Law. Assigned the unenviably position of Public Defender he had spent the last nine weeks defending everyone from thieves to hobgoblins. Albeit the position was indeed a promotion, he hardly got see his family or Penny anymore. News of raid had called him in early this morning. Not because he wanted to awaken before dawn but because he was the only PD on call. It was with a heavy heart and a drowsy visage that Percy Weasley stumbled into the office. Nine weeks on twenty four hour call while that bint Miss Langley (emphasis on the Miss) was off traipsing across the continent and Counselor McTavish was on "sabbatical" with his fishing rod up in the Lake District. He was so drained he hadn't had time to lord his newly earned position over Ron. In this state he loped into the Ministry building seeking a caffeinated embrace.  
  
Two cups later, Percy was a new man. Alert and focused, his agendas didn't seem so full and the day didn't seem all that bad. Heartened so, it was odd when he saw the new name on his docket. A mouthful of hot coffee spewed forth on the offending document which informed Percy Weasley of his new client. A client whom he had to defend from an outrageous number of charges before the day was out. He gave a garbled shout as he rubbed the parchment clean with the cuff of his robe. "Harry POtter!"  
  
End 2  
  
R/R 


	4. Chapter 4: The Injustice of Law

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 04  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 3: The Injustice of Law  
  
A veritable blur of purple robes streaked through the halls of the Ministry of Magic as Percy Weasley rushed to get to the holding area in the Department of Justice. Every now and then he would glance at the parchment in his hand and suck in his breath. In his mind he repeated the charges: One count attempted murder, three counts exposure to muggles. Assault with a magical artifact and possession of a questionable artifact. Slander against Minister's Office and Obstruction of Magical Justice to name but a few. It seemed that the Minister was throwing the book at Harry and Percy couldn't for the life of him figure out why. It was preposterous. Association with a dark wizard. The Boy who Lived a Dark Wizard! The official list of charges was more that Percy had defended in the past two weeks.  
  
The bailiffs protecting the cells took what seemed a inordinate amount of time to clear Percy for entry. One magical signature check and a laborious wand verification later Percy was led into the containment area. Percy winced at the thought of Harry being held in the same regard as the dangerous creatures and wizards around him. Cold metal gleamed around him hurting his eyes and the dull hum generated by the powerful wards on the cells sent waves of vertigo through the fledgling lawyer. While not Azkaban, the sheer energy devoted into securing this temporary prison made chance of escape negligible. For not the first time Percy staggered while walking down these halls. Eventually they had come to the correct chamber and Percy thanked the guard and strode into meet the close friend of the Weasley family who was going to go to trial.  
  
***  
  
When the bolts turned on the door, Harry stirred from his fitful slumber. He was cold from sleeping on the decidedly unpillow-like metal table. The events of the night had taken its toll and his leg still hurt. The mediwizard had cast some charms but the knee still twinged when he shifted position. Despite this he steeled himself and shook off the pain of his blossoming headache. The loud creak of the door pierced the solitude of his captivity as it opened to admit....Percy Weasley? Harry shot up straight and immediately regretted doing so. Waves of discomfort and pain cascaded through his drowsy mind and forced him to gasp. His confusion at the unexpected arrival of a friendly face did not help his state. Percy waved off the guard and pulled the chair Dawkins had sat in out from in front of Harry. Next he quickly threw down a small pile of parchments and folders on the table and shrugged off his outer robe.  
  
"Alright Harry," he said without pause, "We have much to do and not enough time to do it. I need your account of this mornings activities." He pulled out a raven's feather quill and prepared to make notes about what Harry was going to say. Seeing the confusion on young Potter's face Percy leaned back and deposited the quill beside the blank parchment. "Perhaps I should explain." Harry simply nodded in agreement. "I a lawyer now Harry. More specifically I'm a public defender. That makes me your lawyer. Tonight a 7:00pm your going on trial before a closed court for.." He plucked a sheet from the bottom and sucked in a deep breath. "Attempted murder, slander on a Ministry official, slander on the Ministry proper and The Minster's Office, misuse of magical constructs, possession of restricted article C-I: a CLoak of Invisibility, intent to curse, breach of the young wizards curfew, destruction of property, planting evidence, speeding on a broom, reckless flying, Assault with a magical transportation device, suspected dark ties, failure to report a magical disturbance and obstruction of justice." He panted a little and flipped the sheet over. 'Oh and revealing a wizard in the vicinity of a muggle, three counts. Quite a pickle."  
  
"Can I send a message to Dumbledore. He could straighten this mess out couldn't he?" asked Harry.  
  
Percy grimaced. "Well normally yes but since the Minister perceives this as an assault on his office, admittance of anyone who is not strictly a Ministry official is prohibited. No outside communication nor any press releases. We'll all likely be sworn to secrecy under pain of dismissal for a year and a day or until Fudge resigns so that "reputation of the Minister remains intact during his or her tenure. So contacting Dumbledore is out." Percy frowned at this. "Time is of the essence Harry, tell me what happened so I can help you." Percy took up his quill and waited expectantly. Harry opened his mouth to begin but his neglected stomach protested further exertion without fuel. The loud, uncontrollable growl emanating from Harry's abdominal area heralded a end of conversation. Percy called to the guard for a meal and laughed at the absurdity of the situation. For his part Harry managed to look sheepish though his weak chuckle. When the guard returned minutes later, Harry begin his story over the meager meal provided. He stressed the danger he felt when he realized that there was an intruder and though it was brief, he related the full details of the melee. The telling of the tale took longer then the event itself.  
  
When Harry ran out of words to describe both the attack and Dawkins' questioning Percy sighed and said. "You would have genuine grounds for self-defense Harry but I doubt the Ministry will see it our way. Three officials have signed on in support of the prosecution and that bastard Dawkins is shark if I ever saw one. I don't have time to build a suitable defense for all the charges and the trial is in two hours. I'm sorry Harry." After a pause during which Harry hung his head the atmosphere of the closed space saddened.  
  
"So it's over. You tell me Fudge is putting pressure on this from the top. That he's got a battalion of lawyers who researched every aspect of the "crime" so that any defense of one charge automatically assumes my guilt of another. You say the whole thing is rigged and because of Fudge and the policies of the Ministry the verdict is preordained. I'm guilty of trying not to die. How about the sentence?" Harry asked with more than a little desperation. Injustice stung inside of him. hH had only recently decided to stand up for himself and now that chance was being taken from him.  
  
"Well, it depends on the judge. I'm afraid that according to wizard law, these particular circumstances don't allow for a jury. It's out of our hands. I am truly sorry." Percy could only shake his head.  
  
***  
  
The trial, if it can be called that, was mercifully short. On one side sat a shackled Harry looking pale with his inexperienced counsel. Percy's purple robes clashed horribly with his carrot-like hair and his nervous stammering detracted from his effectiveness. On the other side were rows of gray-clad professionals. There uniformity and crisp courtroom personas overwhelmed the defense with little difficulty. Try as he might his objections were overruled and his arguments dismissed. It took less than two hours to decide the fate of Harry Potter. Whilst the accusations of attempted murder were cast aside, the sheer volume of lesser infractions quickly added up. The wigged magistrate who had remained all but a statue throughout the duration came to life and looked imperiously down at Harry.  
  
"Harry James Potter, arise" demanded the loud voice of a bailiff.  
  
The magistrate took a sip of water and cleared his throat . The dry sound seemmed a trumpet in the cavernous courtroom. The empty rows and deserted jury box only served to depress Harry. Harry glanced at the Minster sitting behind Dawkins. He bore a look of disturbing eagerness. "Before I relate to you my decision, I would like to inform you of the seriousness of your situation. Had this been a regular trial I might be inclined to impose the full and harshest sentence upon you. Though as it stands, the evidence is sparse for both cases." The excited gleam that had been Fudge's eyes gave way to concern as he faced the judge. "The ambivalent nature of the case can not allow me to rule one way or another in a confident manner. That you committed acts of violence for whatever reason is not disputed. That you hold the Office of the Minister in contempt is apparent." The hopeful look returned to Fudge's visage.  
  
"However." Fudge grew despondent once more.  
  
"That Gavin Falstaff cannot provide an adequate explanation for his presence at 4 Privet Drive is also true. That the circumstances of the case are tipped heavily against you is oblivious. It is without doubt that these proceedings demean the integrity of the legal process and cast a grime light on the character of the government." The judge moved his glance pointedly from Harry to the front row where Fudge was sitting. "It is with great reluctance and careful deliberation that I make this ruling." He looked back at Harry.  
  
There was a pause that was both dramatic and painful before the judge loudly declared the ruling of the court. "Harry James Potter, your actions are outside bounds of acceptable behavior for a wizard. And thus it is for your punishment and your own safety that your are hereby cast from these British Isles. Let the record show from now until new evidence is brought to light, that Harry Potter is banished. Court is adjourned." The rapping of the gavel was lost in the explosions of voices erupting from the prosecution and spectators.  
  
End 4  
  
Authors Notes:  
  
My grasp of English law is virtually non-existent. I apologize if the trial seemed too truncated but I didn't have the will to write a grueling legal battle.  
  
I'd like to say thanks to my reviewer, both old and new. So a big Thanks to Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter, Lady FoxFire, and Relle. 


	5. Chapter 5: The Bridge That Falls Behind

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 05  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 5: The Bridge That Falls Behind You  
  
A roar was the only way to describe it. A cacophony of the outrage of some mingling with the triumph of many. No one person's reaction to the judges sentence could be determined. The court was filled with surging wave noise and emotion. Very Raw, strictly primal, and undoubtedly honest. Harry laughed a desperate kind of laugh as he turned to face the bellowing crowd of spectators. Upon his entrance he had cast his glance downward, not wanting to see the accusation in the face of the few Ministry officials present before the Fudges pre-emptive lock-down. But now, when it really didn't matter, he glean the truth from faces of the crowd. The few who smiled openly wore the trappings of pure-bloods. Harry had been concerned about faceless enemies in the Ministry after Dawkins spoken the names of Avery, Boot and Nott. The smirks and tooth smiles of Avery and Nott gave justification to his fear. Just the same, the quiet green-looking Boot indicated he was pressured into his testimony. A small sea of men, faces without names, both reassured and worried Harry. He knew he had friends and he knew he had enemies. But it didn't matter. Fudge's war was waged behind closed doors with threats and blackmail. Harry knew this because he knew that Fudge was coward. This was not a vendetta against Harry, it was merely the Minister's way of hiding the re-emergence of Voldemort. After spending time tied to headstone Harry did not begrudge Fudge his fear, yet in that instant when he saw the pleased look on the man's face Harry was overcome with a hatred for the man's weakness.  
  
But these thought lay hidden to any who looked at Harry. All anyone could see was a look of shock and a frame burdened by the weight of shackles and chains. It was a look of innocence lost, a look of immense betrayal and any with shred of decency who saw it wept inside with shame. In a hall of bureaucrats and traitors not many felt the sting of shame. But a few did. A few felt guilty for serving a fool and others yet regretted not speaking up. And thus did resolve form among a scattered few. The days of Cornelius Fudge were numbered. It was unfortunate he lacked the foresight to realize it. It was unfortunate he was a small and petty man. Yes it was unfortunate for him indeed.  
  
***  
  
Harry was hurried through the center aisle, a worried guard trying to yank him past the swelling crowd of the mob. Some reached out to show there support, others to deliver a parting jeer to the boy. All the arms reaching for the one figure gave the appearance of disorder and of brewing chaos. The longer his charge walked amongst the mob, the greater the chance of a riot. It was inevitable that the guard's forceful pulls would overwhelm Harry's dwindling stamina. With a painful thump and drowned out clatter of chains Harry Potter was sent sprawling. The wind was knocked from as he skidded closer to the right row seats. As the bailiff urged him to stand the tumult rose to new heights. Profanity and accusations swirled around the courtroom and so involved was the argument that few paid any heed to the fallen exile. Yet one person did. He reached down over the barricade despite the complaints of the bailiff. A manicured hand hauled Harry upright and grasped the cuff of Harry's too-large plaid shirt, pulling him into earshot.  
  
"Harry Potter, how dreadful for you" breathed the voice of Lucius Malfoy. The man's platinum blonde hair was bound loosely behind his head and his eyes shone with amusement. "My Master wishes to express his gratitude for your blood. All this," he waved a hand at the anarchy around them "Is because of you. Farewell, Potter." With the air of man confident he would never again be bothered by his foe, Lucius disappeared into the chaotic mass of humanity.  
  
The incessant urging of the bailiff shook Harry out of the stupor Malfoy's words had instilled. Glancing around he saw that the situation was beginning to calm down. Shaking his head Harry realized he had yet to stop laughing. Yet now it was conscious. He really did find the whole thing quite funny.  
  
***  
  
It had taken a long time to break up the madness after his verdict. The whole affair dissolved into utter bedlam and was a complete embarrassment. Ultimately he had started handing out citations and throwing grown wizards into jail. Once they saw how serious he was the bickering and fist fights had ceased and became quiet fury. Even the most pugilistic of malcontents withered under his glare. Such was his gift. It was not without price though, the entire ordeal had left him drained. Shrugging out of oppressive and voluminous black robes and shedding his wig, he shut the door to his chambers. He would need to make notes for his files. This case would only lay dormant for a while. *By Merlin's beard I just exiled Harry Potter!* It was necessary. Fudge had been too quick to prosecute and too loud in his denouement of allegations against Falstaff. There was no proof though, one way or the other. At least elsewhere the boy would be out of capricious hands. The files showed the boy was more than capable of surviving on his own. With a sigh he strode to the decanter on the sideboard. "Yes," Edmundus Fletcher said to nobody in particular as he poured some brandy, "The boy will do fine.  
  
***  
  
Percy Weasley stood at the front door of his house. His parent's house really but it was the only home he had known. He and Penny had talked of getting a flat of their own in London But nothing had come of it. He still lived in the same shabby farmhouse near Ottery St Catchpole, he still bickered with youngest brother at the supper table and still doted on his only sister. Yet it didn't feel like coming home. He bore a sense of profound sadness as he reached for the doorknob. He had failed so completely and now a boy who was practically a member of the family was exiled. Percy had quickly scrawled a note to Harry telling him not to worry, that the exile was to imposed a week from today. Now he needed rest. But first...  
  
The door swung open and a anxious looking Arthur Weasley stood staring at his third son with bloodshot eyes. "I never should have left the office. Went home for a spot of breakfast and couldn't get back in. Fudge closed down all entrances for security reasons and I was stuck outside EVEN though I was bloody witness. Well, what happened son? Oh" He then truly saw the sorrowful gaze of Percy and slouch of his shoulders. Dully Percy walked into the foray and kicked off his shoes and plucked off his hat. He merely looked at his father and motioned him towards the kitchen. Minutes later they sat across from one another with steaming cup of tea each cradled in theirs hands. Percy took a loud slurp and sighed. "Fudge swore all the spectators and councilors to silence. He said it is not to leave the Ministry, is this clear Department Head Arthur Weasley." He said the last with a un-Percy like twinkle in his eye.   
  
Comprehension dawned on Arthur as he replied, "Of Course Consoler Weasley. No what's all he fuss about. Is Gavin in Azkaban?"  
  
"Falstaff wasn't charged Dad, it was Harry who went on trial." He motioned for his father to belay the shout of outrage that threatened to escape. The last thing they needed was one of the family to hear about this. "They charged him with everything short treason because he "assaulted the office of the Minister" and then rigged trial. Lucky Judge Fletcher was the only magistrate in over the weekend or it could have went worse." Percy steeled himself with a deep breath and a drought of tea. "Father, they banished him. You know what the Code says about Banishment right?"  
  
Arthur responded in a monotone voice, "And he who is cast out shall live apart from the nation, and never shall he met with one of the blood of the nation. He shall dwell not in boundaries of our land."  
  
Percy replied in an equally flat voice "But council shall meet to judge the exile each year on the anniversary of his exile." Percy brightened at this. " So Harry can challenge the decision a year from now right. This could all blow over by then right.  
  
"Lets hope so son, let's hope so." The pair lapsed into silence.  
  
End Chapter 5  
  
Author's notes.  
  
Well Harry's got week left in Britain to sort things out. How do you think he will deal?  
  
Thanks to my reviewers, Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter, Them Girl and Relle. And to Lady FoxFire, I guess I've kept your attention thus far. 


	6. Chapter 6: Like Sand in Your Grasp

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 06  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 6: Like Sand in Your Grasp  
  
Understandably Harry slept not at all that night. Everything since the Third Task replayed in his thoughts. His disgustingly docile nature, his childish fears, and his anxiety. Now they seemed so far away, so remote. It was if he had become a different person. And why not, hadn't the adversity he faced defined him. He was The Boy Who Lived, a savior for overcoming an evil that claimed all others. He slew a basilisk and braved Aragog's hollow. He faced down Dementors and dueled Riddle himself. But these things were in the past now. Perhaps that was Riddle's flaw. He was so entangled with the sins of his father and his future hope of immorality that he lost sight of the now. The more he thought about it the more plausible it seemed. Glory and power sought in the future to wipe out the blemish of his past? It was actually quite infantile. As if hundred's of murders could teach a lesson to a uncaring bigot. A man long dead and past reasoning with. Riddle's hate must have grown like a cancer because he refused to accept himself. Refused to live as he was. Harry sincerely doubted that pure blood or muggle bigots cared if you hated them, in fact they probably preferred that you did.  
  
But now was not the for introspection. Action must take precedence over thought when time inexorably moved on. He had a week to get ready. Leaving Britain was actually not a big deal. He'd be away from the Dursley's and any price was worth that. Despite their efforts Falstaff and Fudge had actually done him a favor. A week was all the time in the world for what he had to do. He summoned a guard to fetch something for him. He wouldn't need a week.  
  
***  
  
Percy hurried into the containment area. It was early but he needed to see Harry soon. He needed to reassure the boy and start making arrangements. A week wasn't that much time. For not the first time Percy cursed himself for a coward. He should have done this last night before going home. He could only sigh and shifted back and forth on his feet to alleviate his frustration with the slow progress the guard was making with the locks. Upset he brushed past the man and slide into the cell when the door was only half open. Turning back he glared at the unnaturally slow guard who could only shrug unrepentantly. With a groan of exasperation that bordered on a growl he flicked his wrist in way of dismissal. Steeling himself he waited for the door to close before he turned to wake Harry. The heavy slam of the huge door seemed unnecessary to Percy. He swallowed and breathed deeply and did a crisp about-face turn while saying softly "Harry time to wa..." As he turned he saw Harry not sprawled out on the cot like he'd imagined but perched on the edge looking at a scroll. A half a dozen more files lay discarded beside him. He looked quite intent on whatever he was reading.  
  
"What's that your reading Harry?" Percy for the life of him couldn't figure out what the document was or where Harry got it.  
  
"My parent's will and a few other document I convinced the Ministry archivist to pull for me last night. When are all the departments open?" He asked without pause. Overall he spoke in a unmistakably direct manner. He looked haggard and he actually needed a shave.  
  
"Well, about ten minutes ago I suppose. The Minister is convening a Department-wide meeting after dinner though. Why?"  
  
"Ah. We'll have to be quick. I can travel the building so long as I'm in your custody right?" Harry asked. His brows were furrowed in concentration. Whatever his troubles was it certainly wasn't the current conversation.  
  
"Well yes, But" Before the response had left Percy's mouth Harry had continued wit his out query. Actually it seemed like a command.  
  
"Come on then. After dinner you day? Well if that's the case I'd need in transit by noon. " He sprang up and gathered the documents. Now by looking at them Percy could tell that they bore the marks of an official Ministry copy. Harry walked around a rather dumbstruck Percy after placing the copies in Percy's hands and thumped loudly on the door and then beckoned for the bailiff. Almost immediately the door was opened and Harry stepped into hall past the threshold of confinement that cloistered him the past two days. He inhaled deeply as if the air outside the cell was fresher and cracked his neck. After unbuttoning his large flannel shirt Harry removed his thin wire frame glasses and rubbed them clean with his white undershirt. After Holding them up to light he nodded to himself when he was satisfied with their cleanliness he then glanced back at his stupefied lawyer. With a amused smirk on his face and a smoldering fire in his eye he called over his shoulder, 'You coming?"  
  
***  
  
For once in his life the scar worked for him. Everyone in the Ministry knew about last night's events, office gossip assured that. So it was with gasps, whispers, ad murmurs that his passage was met in the vast hall' s of the Ministry building. Behind him trailed a bewildered Percy Weasley though few saw the young man. All eyes were on the boy who strode over marble floors with an air of determination. For three reasons nobody barred his path. Firstly because any who were inclined to do so were in conference with Fudge in preparation for his next big coup over the fifteen year old Potter. Secondly, nobody had any right to halt the boy because of the protocols regarding banishment. Lastly, the exile's loping yet serene stride was kind of spooky.  
  
He had to glance questioningly back at Percy to make sure he was in the right place. Percy nodded in affirmation. Harry swiftly turned down into on of the tributary corridor with Percy in tow. Following the signs and arrows he made to the right place. A perky yet inattentive secretary welcomed him Department of Magical Education. "I was wondering if you could please provide me a list of Magical schools in continental Europe and a application to each. That is if its not too much trouble."  
  
The cheerfulness seemed to drain out of the young woman. The enormity of the task was far out of the range of her experience. "Now see here, what kinda of ... Oh my! I'll do my best Mr. Potter." Suddenly the summer job didn't seem so bad to Selene Blair. *The girls are just going to die with envy when I tell them I've met Harry Potter!* She kicked her wheeled office chair towards a cabinet behind her and rummaged through the contents of few drawers. Ten minutes later she surfaced with a stack of papers which she hurriedly stuffed into a plain brown envelop. Harry smiled back and offered profuse thanks. He peeked inside and thumbed through the pile. "Oh and could you get about fifty copies of my Hogwart's transcript owled to me please?" The girl merely nodded her assent as stared dreamily at the young celebrity. She was humming a tune and cracking her gum long after Harry and Percy had left.  
  
***  
  
"Where to next Harry?" Percy had now grown used to Harry's inexplicable demeanor.  
  
"I need to pick up my trunk and wand. Will I get my cloak back?" the boy in question asked.  
  
'Eventually. Your trunk and wand should be in the evidence lockers. That Two left as a right that way." Weasley pointed. They made their way to through the parting ranks of officials that had crowed around them. Since the trial had been concluded the previous night, there was no trouble in reclaiming his possessions. Percy assured him that the cloak would be returned to him when his exile was revoked in, hopefully, a year. The loss of his father's cloak saddened him but it had served his purpose.  
  
"Next?" They had stopped for a break in the main entrance of the Magical Law division.  
  
"Last actually." Percy did a double take at this. "I need to dart over to Nexus Portways. I don't want to give Fudge a chance to get his hands on me. I've had quite enough of his "protective custody. Lets go."  
  
"Your leaving now?!" a shocked Percy asked. The suddenness of all this sent the man's thoughts in a spiral.  
  
Harry grimaced. "I need to. There is no other way. Tell Ron and the family I'm sorry. I'll owl you when I'm settled." With that he liberated some powder from the nearby fireplace and traveled to magical the equivalent of Heathrow Airport.  
  
End Chapter 6  
  
Author Notes  
  
Thanks to all my reviewers: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter, Lady FoxFire, Relle, Them Girl, Cricket and AJake. You people are great. 


	7. Chapter 7: A Pin Prick to the Ego

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 07  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 7: A Pin Prick to the Ego  
  
It was half past one when the department-wide meeting commenced. Minster of Magic Fudge waddled confidently to the podium and highlighted purpose for the meeting. He opened his monologue with an apology. 'I realize that this is a break in custom, but I feel it necessary to relate to you the serious events of the past week. Despite claims to the contrary by Dumbledore, Harry Potter has quick obviously gone mad. My aide, the much maligned Gavin Falstaff, made an innocent journey to the Dursley residence to gauge the mental state of the young man. Upon seeing Gavin, the boy went positively rabid and attacked him. Having not been trained in anyway to defend against physical attack, Gavin was subdued by the ambush. When he awoke he was garbed in robes that were not his own. Robes once worn by Death Eaters in service of He Who Must Not Be Named. It was sadistic and criminal of Harry Potter to traumatize my aide in this way. It was treason."  
  
A muted gasp of shock escaped the crowd. The speech was quite effective and Fudge was nothing if not a consummate politician. But he continued on. "No doubt the misguided boy was attempting to gain attention for himself. Well he succeeded. He garnered both my notice and my concern. I pressed charges but the presiding magistrate made light of the threat the boy represented. Instead placing him in St. Mungo's where belongs, Judge Fletcher set him loose on the world. Percival Weasley please rise." The Minster commanded. When the red headed lawyer did so all saw he was seated near the rear of the room. "Come forward." Fudge ordered tyrannically. When Percy did so reluctantly the Minster continued with his oratory.  
  
"I want you to fetch the boy for me now. The assembled Ministry deserves to know why he partook in such a seditious act. " Fudge waited expectantly. He would have to wait a long time before he saw Harry Potter again.  
  
  
  
***  
  
As was his custom with Floo travel, Harry was catapulted out of the fireplace. He and his trunk were propelled across a tiled floor until they both slowed to a painful stop. A few onlookers glanced his way, but after seeing he was alright they went about their business. Gathering his much abused trunk under his arm, Harry shook off the discomfort that magical travel inflected upon him. He was in a receiving area, a vast pulpit of fireplaces and platforms to receive travelers by Floo and Apparition. From thin air wizards of varying nationalities materialized, whole families and groups just popping into existence. It was actually pretty awe-inspiring. The place, the Hub as it was affectionately called, was unquestionably the crossroads of Magical Britain. All about Harry swirled mass of arriving and departing people. The Hub was easily a mile across with many different counters and signs. Everybody seemed to know where they were going here.  
  
Breathing deep Harry began the long trek across hard floor to a desk labeled General Inquiries. Slipping in between the current and flows of human traffic, Harry dodged collisions and keep his head low. If he was recognized here he could be taken by a Death Eater or mauled by a group of fans. *I'd rather be taken by the Death Eater* Harry thought wryly. His concern was for not because moments later he stood before his destination. He sighed in relief. The man at the desk peered down curiously. "How might I help you Young Master?" The man was pleasant looking and his name tag read Thomas.  
  
"Do you have a office where we could speak in a less exposed manner?" Harry asked in a low voice. Thomas seemed to pick up the boy's worried undertone and simply nodded in comprehension. Thomas merely put a "Closed" placard on tp of the desk and motioned for Harry follow him. He lead Harry into a backroom which served as a sort of lunchroom. A clock tolled eleven as they entered the room. The place was deserted.  
  
"What's the problem?" He asked. In response to the man's inquiry Harry reached into his pocketed and pulled out a copy of his sentence. Thomas quickly skimmed the document and the man's eyes widened at the name of the defendant. He let out a choking gasp as he reached the part about the banishment. He looked up from the paper and squinted at the now apparent lightning scar on Harry's forehead. The man remained quiet until Harry chose to break the tense silence.  
  
"As you can see I am required to leave Britain under pain of death. Can you or someone here help me?" Harry said with an air of urgency. The gravity of the situation seemed to sink into the man.  
  
"This is ridiculous, Harry Potter banished! This a joke right?" Thomas asked hopefully. The flat look and arched eyebrow of Harry dissuaded him from thinking the matter was a joke. "Well do you have a passport?"  
  
"No. I can't get one anymore either because I'm now officially an expatriate of Britain. If you can get me out I can settle things on my own. All I need is a Portkey to anywhere. Can you get it arranged.?"  
  
Their was a pause. Thomas was obviously struggling with the difficult decision to breach regulations. "If it helps you any, technically I'm an emancipated minor. I have the legal status of an adult according to the statue regarding Banishment. Also I had leave somehow, if not by Portkey then by foot or by broom. Anyways when the Ministry tracks my movements to here you'll be sworn to secrecy." With more than a little bitterness Harry remarked, "Everyone else has." That cinched it. Thomas nodded in agreement and sent a note to a friend of his. Attached to the reply was a ticket.  
  
A half an hour later after a quick two sickle brunch at the concessionaire Harry was mounting the platform for departure. It was noon on the nose of August 5 when Harry Potter left England.  
  
***  
  
Fudge purpled in the face before all the gathered Ministry officials. He started gasping for breath. It appeared that he was actually hyperventilating from rage. Whatever Percy said to the Minster seemed to send him into a fir of anger rarely experienced by mortal man. Through panting breaths and clenched fists the Minsters asked, "What did you say?"  
  
"I can't do that sir." Percy had just decided that he really didn't like Minster Fudge anymore. The man was a touch too pompous for his tastes. Coming form Percy "Big Head Boy" Weasley that was quite an accomplishment.  
  
"Why the bloody hell not?" demanded an irate Fudge.  
  
"It's not within your rights to demand that." Responded Percy.  
  
"Now see here son, you better listen to me" Blustered Fudge.  
  
"No Minster, it is you who should listen. Harry Potter has been exiled. Apart from the people directly involved in his departure from of England, no one of our, meaning British, blood shall have any physical contact with him. To seek him out is immoral and illegal, punishable by imprisonment. He's out of all jurisdiction of any Department but Magical Law."  
  
"Boy if you think.." Fudge started to threaten.  
  
Percy didn't let him finish. He had witnessed a fifteen year old jumping into the unknown. A boy and friend who didn't deserve the abuse the Minster was heaping on him walking away from everything he had every known. "I don't think Minister, I know. It is my job to know. Besides I couldn't "fetch" him if tried. I don't know where he is. He left the office at ten o'clock this morning. He left for the Hub."  
  
"H-He's gone!?" sputtered Fudge. "He had no right!"  
  
"Yes he did, and he had on obligation to do so. He had week, that's what the court afforded him. He took his possessions and left right away claiming he did not want to be made a spectacle of. Such was his prerogative." On that note, Percy turned and left. All eyes followed him as he marched out of the assembly with his back ramrod straight.  
  
End Chapter 7  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Finally I've got this thing off the ground.  
  
Thanks to my reviewers, Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter, Them Girl, Relle, Lady FoxFire, AJake and Cricket(). Since your all somewhat interested I'll keep writing. 


	8. Chapter 8: An Oath Disavowed

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 08  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 8: An Oath Disavowed  
  
The Portkey was unpleasant. Every time he felt the familiar, yet strange tug behind his navel, Harry fought the urge to panic. Since the Third Task the sensation was associated with powerlessness, with encroaching danger. But the Portkey was essential so he pushed away his panic. The device would get him away from England instantaneously, he could start gathering resources when he was safe from the Ministry. Regardless of the nausea, he help tightly onto the object.  
  
A second of plummeting and he had arrived. Darkness gave way to the light of the Parisian Nexus and he breathed a sigh. As he walked he experienced his first breath as a free man. The tension that has plagued his bones washed away with each cleansing footstep. The atmosphere buzzed with rapid and incomprehensible French. Where the British Hub was oppressively dull, the Paris counterpart was painfully bright. Shining white porcelain tile and vibrant hued tapestries adorned any free wall space. Despite the difference in ambiance both bore the same, if not moreso, impressive flow of people. To Harry it has seem he had jumped from a sea of people into veritable ocean of humanity. The anonymity heartened Harry as he meandered through the surging tide of bodies.  
  
He had never been taught French so he was at a loss to speak to any one. But that didn't matter. Paris was but a stopover. He merely walked until he reached one of the ubiquitous information desks. After struggling lingually with the person in the kiosk, he finally got his point across. He bought pouch of Floo powder and made it to one of the many roaring fir pits that illuminated the massive ivory hall. Assured that it was connected to the Floo network by the frustrating lady at the help desk, he flung a pinch of powder into the blaze, turning it green. As he walked into the inferno he clearly stated his destination. "Marduk, Henrik, Falkirk and Associates, Marseilles Branch." With those words he was rocketed across to the southern coast of France where his family's executer was situated. The Floo network accounted for the linguistic barrier. Magic was good like that.  
  
***  
  
He landed on his feet this time but still slide. It seemed he would eventually get the hang of Floo travel. He didn't know how Ron and them did so easily; practice he guessed. Then he winced with guilt. He hadn't thought of Ron or anybody at Hogwarts since he parted ways with Percy. He wouldn't be much of a friend to Ron or Hermione now, hundreds of miles away. Falstaff and Fudge's actions assured that any of the roots he was beginning to plant were severed. When the minster allowed the public to know of the assault, he would most likely put a negative spin on it. A Death Eater attack had happened and Fudge was likely working desperately to cover it up. The vow of secrecy and the trial was proof of that. Harry jerked his head back and forth to shake out the depressing thoughts. He had work to do. In his melancholy he had failed to observe his surroundings. The room he was in contained only the one fireplace. it was large and the blaze was about eight feet high. Towards the door was narrow corridor made narrower by two rows of parallel pillars. All and all the architecture seemed quite gothic. Hoisting the trunk on his shoulder Harry trekked down the torch lit hall to a large set of well preserved oak doors. A large brass door knocker was fixed in the center of the left door and Harry reached out and used it to full effect. With a load creak the door swung open and Harry stepped through. He was greeted by a smartly attired man wearing a set of formal robes.  
  
Before the man could utter so much as a "bienvenue" Harry uttered the universal greeting of any tourist. "Je n'ai parle pas le francais." The man glanced at Harry's casual clothing and sniffed.  
  
'Oui, I see that now." He remarked in heavily accented English. 'Come wit me Mr....?"  
  
"Potter. I believe Mr. Marduk handles the estate of my departed family. The will doesn't give any particulars, just a direction to this place" Harry supplied. He knelt and pooped open his trunk and flashed the copy of the will at the man."  
  
'You are fortunate Mr. Potter, Monsieur Marduk has not yet departed for lunch. I will see if will met you. " The man hurried up a set of stairs and left Harry alone in the main hall. It was small but the materials used in the reflected a tasteful opulence. Harry was examining a bust of one of the founders of the firm when the man returned. He seemed surprised when he said "Monsieur Marduk will see you immediately." With that he guided the young wizard up the staircase and into a spacious office on the third floor.  
  
"Ah Monsieur Potter, I am Martine Marduk. To what do I owe the privilege of your visit. I had not expected you for another three years, no?" Marduk was slim man dressed in pale blue silk robes, He reached out with a many ringed hand to grasp Harry's own, shaking it above his desk. Harry presented the lawyer with the copy of the will he had gotten from the archive. "I wish to know the details of my families wealth. Ihe matter has grown quite urgent."  
  
"Ah, but I cannot do that until reach the age of majority, when you come of age as it were." Marduk replied apologetically. Harry plucked the sentence transcript from his back pocket. Marduk took it and practically collapsed in his chair. After he digested the importance of the document he spoke in a level voice. "That is a different story then isn't it. Jean Paul?" The french man who had led Harry to the office appeared at the door, "Fetch the Potter file, get Maurice to help you." The man scurried off.  
  
"It will take some time, would you care for some refreshment young master?" Harry assented to the some tea and moments later he was balancing a delicate china mug in his fingers. Marduk leaned back in his chair and began to speak as a pair of men entered the room. "My deepest sympathies are with you Monsieur Potter." The men deposited what can only be described as a tome on the desk. The pages looked yellow from age and the binding was ornate. On the front were intricate etchings of silver and glyphs of platinum that had no meaning to Harry "But these unfortunate times are not without benefit. The actions of your Minster Fudge and that court ruling have speeded up the natural course of events. Though you are an expatriate, the history of you family has entitled you to a vast inheritance. Your Gringott's vault is merely a trust fund to insure your self-sufficiency, to cover your expenses until you graduate from a magical education. Your exile means you inherit now."  
  
He paused for a sip of his own tea while Harry listened raptly. Marduk pried it open and sneezed loudly was cloud of dust billowed from the large book. "Printed on these pages is the sum of the Potter estate across Europe and Eurasia. The landes in Germany, Russia, Italy and here in France; Controlling shares in the Eastern European Flooways and the Northern Conglomerate of Sorcerers; verified possession of enchanted objects, both rare and common." He named this things from a few of the pages he idly flipped though. "All these things are now yours and have been yours since you handed me the proof of your banishment. So you see, you're a rich man Monsieur Potter."  
  
Rather than being impressed by this revelation Harry chose a different tactic. "I've been relatively wealthy since I first opened my vault four years ago. How much, in galleons, do I possess in liquid assets?"  
  
Marduk merely flipped to the back of the book and waved away the dust that action stirred up. "Here we go. Approximately two hundred million galleons. This balance has accumulated over the years the account lay dormant, that is the first fourteen of your life. Prior to that half of the profits per annum had been re-invested by your brokerage firm in accordance with you departed father's wishes. If you desire I can recommend to your agents to return to the old investment pattern."  
  
"That would be fine. Would you be able to find me a place to stay, preferable a hotel, and straighten out my rather, unexpected, arrival in France. ?"  
  
"But of course, I well get Jean Paul to make arrangements. Will you need anything else?"  
  
"No. For now that will do." Unexcepted but not unwelcome, Harry's new status settled rather comfortably on his shoulders. Though it did little to displace the grim burdens he already bore, it made them seem less daunting.  
  
***  
  
Tallard Boot was squirming. Not physically but mentally. For not the first time he wrestled with his conscious. It was lunch break and he called in sick so he could avoid Fudge's little gathering. It sickened him, what Avery and Nott convinced him to do. Honeyed lies and veiled threats had caused the Ravenclaw alumni to corroborate their story. Fudge wanted it to, he could see in the little man's eyes when the Minster had questioned him. If the Minster wanted it, it had to be alright? Right?  
  
However in the light of day his capitulation seemed more cowardly, Falstaff's actions more sinister and Fudge's claims less believable. The trial was a farce, he knew that for a fact now. But what did Fudge want? The banishment seemed to upset him. Did he really want The Boy Who Lived in Azkaban? Why was he so concerned about Death Eater activities being public knowledge? To Boot's suspicious mind the fear of public panic seemed more like manure than Ministry policy. The more he thought of it the more he disliked himself. His lie had fostered the unmitigated tripe that banished Harry Potter. He swallowed his fear and dashed across Diagon Alley to his destination. Someone needed to be told of Fudge's misdeeds. He had done a great wrong to an innocent boy. He would make it right. Boot's long walk, as it happens, occurred about the same time as Fudge called Percy Weasley to the front of the assembled Ministry. When young lawyer passionately put Fudge in his place, Tallard Boot had begun to spill his story to the Daily Prophet.  
  
  
  
End Chapter 8  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Ah, the redemption of Tallard Boot. It just goes to show you that a secret can't exist between two people unless one of them is dead.  
  
Oh and there has been numerous remarks about the much changes Percy Weasley. Personally I think his workload and the debacle with Crouch in GOF was the kick in the pants he needed.  
  
Don't expect any updates next week, I'm out of contact and on vaction. Next chapter on the 23rd at the earliest.  
  
I would have posted this chapter last night but FF.net was down. Oh and thanks to all my reviewers: Nighttime Sunshine, Lady FoxFire, Relle, Them Girl, Cricket, AJake, SaiyanSeker88, fan, bostionian and Otaku Freak. Reviews and feedback make me want to write more. 


	9. Chapter 9: A Face in The Crowd

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 04  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 9: A Face in the Crowd  
  
The soft caress of the thick carpeting soothed Harry's frayed nerves. Jean Paul had escorted him to a opulent hotel on the border of Marseilles' magical district. The building itself loomed the cramped warren of alleys and roads that was dubbed Rue de le Sorc. Oddly the building cast no shadow. The district itself was comparable to Diagon Alley, it bore the same feeling of displacement. Both bustled with wizard activity beneath the notice of muggles and both seemed a relic of medieval Europe. Cramped yet vast, the district's odd turns and warrens were familiar to Harry. A testament to the absentminded architecture that plagued most wizard buildings. The hotel was different. The Pillar was magical but it also catered to the muggle populace. When Harry had asked the now haggard Jean Paul he only waved the concern away with "Charms" as way as explanation. People in robes walked past and rather amazingly, through muggle tourists and visitors. Whatever charms that Jean Paul alluded were powerful indeed. To Harry it appeared that muggle and wizard alike were oblivious of one another, even to the extent that they existed in completely different spheres of reality. It was too much to take in a single glance and Harry begged off moving any further. A relieved and tired Jean Paul agreed and they seated themselves on a bench in the main lobby.  
  
"So muggles can't see wizards here and wizards can't see muggles, nor touch?" Harry speculated.  
  
"The way it was explained to me, the wards around the premises tap into the magic of the wizard. It shifts them into demi-plane making them ethereal and invisible for those who entered lacking magic. A blanket of obscurity is cast over the muggles. Conversely when a wizard enters, charm is placed on him, blinding him to all things muggle. I cannot see them, no wizard but the staff can see them, and you." said Jean Paul in way of explanation.  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"You are the owner of this establishment. That is why we are here. The owner does not pay rent, no?" postulated the French man.  
  
Harry simple nodded his understanding. After the short rest Harry was guided into a lift and up to the top floor. "Here is your suite monsieur. It composes the top two floors of the hotel complete with all the amenities that one of station would require. Monsieur Marduk requests that you do not leave until he has smoothed your presence over with authorities. There is a shopping complex in the sub-levels of the building. Ask and it shall be yours." after depositing a few scrolls he had been carrying on a large desk in the corner, he gave a graceful bow the tall man departed.   
  
Now alone with his toes making fists in the lush rugs and carpet, Harry observed his penthouse. If the furnishings of Marduk's office was opulent, then his rooms was majestic. A large dining room, complete kitchen, four master bedrooms and a complete array of magical household items. The TV room seemed more like a theater and the and the bathroom more like a Roman bathhouse. Oh, after craning his neck out over the balcony he saw that there was a pool. In fact most of the roof, laden with gardens and benches, were at his disposal. The owl rookery was situated at the north of the roof and Harry idly watched the fervent flight of departing and arriving owl couriers. All and all it was a posh and comfortable arraignment. He had been perusing the documents which seemed to correlate Marduk's assertions of wealth. Attached on the last sheet there was a stone medallion engraved with his family crest. The roots of a large tree framing a shield with two wolf-headed gargoyles clashing violently against a thin blade on the shield face. In Latin the crest was underscored by a motto: Contra Noctem cum Ferra in Manu Stamus, Against the night with iron in hand we stand. On the back of the greyish medal was stamped the numbers of two of his bank accounts. It was time to go shopping.  
  
***  
  
The excursion was, by all accounts, successful. After stepping of the lift into the sub levels of the hotel the an army of sales reps decided upon. The competition for Harry's money started an impromptu bidding war, each store owner desperate to have Monsieur Potter don his or her garb. It was actually surreal. Upon reflection Harry decided to buy a little from everyone, lest a riot break out. It wound not due for his hotel to be trashed because he had been to generous with his favor on one party. In fact his wardrobe grew substantially in size and style. He had one insistence though, he wanted only shades of black and whites. Memories of Ron's maroon robes haunted his sense of fashion and opted for simplicity over anything else. Now donning a black dragonhide trench robe and a new pair of glasses he felt a refreshed. His right wrist bugled slightly at the new accessory. Beneath the cuff of his stiff coat was a tactical wand holder. With practice he could achieve the traditional swish and flick movement. The harness would prevent disarming charms; he would never be wandless so long as he bore it. With a new spikey haircut that veiled his lightning scar slightly he strode confident across the hotel lobby. Apparently he had grown during his imprisonment under the stairs. While not huge by any means, he was lean and of average height; no longer the midget of his taunting.  
  
Despite he new appearance he was not noticed by the Maitre Dee. He was being yelled at in French by an irrate guest and making apologies to the mortified family of the man. Curious Harry paused and slipped on an artifact he acquired from the shopping complex. The small earbud poked into and framed his ear and would pierce the language barrier. After enough time wearing the device he would be able to fluently speak any language it was adapted to. A moment later a small crackle and the loud ranting of the man became comprehensible. He was cursing. Loudly. With amazing ease and capacity. His blonde headed family were probably more embarrassed at their patriarch's verbose declamations than whatever mix up had happened. In fact one of the huddled females seemed familiar. Even with her face buried in her hands Harry felt the sting of here unconscious Veela charms. He stood dumb founded for a moment and took in the loud monologue of the elder Delacour.  
  
"..reserved six months ago and you said 'you lost it!' My dear daughter is leaving for Britain in a week and I have a mind to ...." Deftly Harry inserted himself into tirade. Hands outstretched placatingly he silence the irate Frenchman. His mouth twisted as the artifact forced his dialogue into French.  
  
"Monsieur Delacour, perhaps I can be of help?" The man took in Harry's figure rather cynically but was slightly surprised that his name was known. He motioned for Harry to continue. "Instead of ousting whoever filled your reservation I invite you and your family dine with me. Tonight in my penthouse to compensate for the failings of my staff." He said the last with his glance at the gulping Maitre Dee. Harry winked at him in way of comfort. The stressed man slumped with relief and awaited Delacour's response.  
  
The color of Delacour faded from bright red to a more normal complection. He seemed delighted with the turn of event."Your staff? Then you are The proprietor. Excellent, it would be an honor to dine with you. I am Monteros Delacour. Who might you be sir?"  
  
"Harry Potter, sir"  
  
"Well then..." But Delacour's next statement was cut off as his youngest daughter squealed loudly and catapulted herself into Harry's arm. The blonde bundle all but smothered him with kisses.  
  
Conversation seemed a moot point until Harry could manage to pry Gabrielle Delacour from around his neck.  
  
End 9  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Well obviously I'm back from my vacation. It was kinda slow but business is about to pick up, I promise.  
  
To all the support I've gotten I'd just like to say thanks. My reviewers, Nighttime Sunshine, Lady FoxFire, Relle, Them Girl, Cricket, AJake, SaiyanSeker88, fan, bostionian and Otaku Freak. Also to the new reviewers gallandro-83, Zaln, pablo5280 sil and paul. Thanks everyone! :} 


	10. Chapter 10: Supper and Swords

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 10  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
  
  
Chapter 10: Supper and Swords  
  
The Chablis was excellent and the fish delicately tasty, it even impressed the discerning palates of the Delacour family. Harry chatted exclusively with the elder Delacour since Fleur, Gabrielle, and their mother Angelique were content to converse quietly at their end of the table. The woman spoke intently about Fleur's upcoming move to England. The solemn youth that had taken the seat across from Harry was their cousin Philippe. He prodded his food lazily and said very little. A long thin scar blemished what could be described as a pretty male face. Philippe bore the chocolate locks of his uncle and sat irresolute in the high back chair. But Harry's train of thought was interrupted as Montrose once again demanded his attention.  
  
"We have, of course, heard much about you from my darling Fleur," with that he send a warm same to the other end of the ornate mahogany table. "I must thank you again for your intentions during the Second Task. Angelique was beside herself when Gabrielle was picked by the officials. Thank you." Harry simply waved that off with a gesture that implied the deed was long forgotten. Montrose merely beamed at him, as if he expected any less from a champion who contented with his daughter. "I must ask however, what brings to belle Marseilles?"  
  
Harry leaned foreword. He liked the man and was not as if the news could remain secret forever. He responded carefully, "You are aware of the unpleasantness that occurred when Cedric Diggory," The name felt like ice on his tongue, "and I took the cup last spring?"  
  
"I have heard rumors that speculated some, but do go on."  
  
"Well, certain parties in my government, namely the minister himself, feared the revelation of that information. He used an assault on my person and home by a dark wizard to draw charges against me. The judge exiled me. So I am forced to study abroad."  
  
'Why that's absurd, there is nothing you can do?" Harry merely shook his in resignation.  
  
A different voice pierced the evening air. It was deep and dry from disuse. "If you mean to study abroad will you attend Beauxbatons?" It was Philippe, he had been drawn in by the change in tone in the conversation.  
  
"I had considered it, but I think I should move further. The closer I am to Britain these days, the less comfortable I feel. My advocate Monsieur Marduk promised to handle those arrangements tomorrow. Beauxbatons is not an option though, the Deputy Headmistress denied my application, that much is assured already. This news came before we were served."  
  
Montrose again, "Denied? You?"  
  
"It seems the influence of my Minister is capable of burning bridges in front of me as well as behind me. But this is irrelevant. Marduk discovered that I have a hereditary seat on the Council of Regents at Durmstrang. That would seem the best course."  
  
Montrose shivered at the name. "Brrr. It is cold in Bulgaria, no?" He gave a hearty laugh and Harry indulged in a close lipped grin. Harry directed his attention back at Philippe. He a grown quite curious about the older youth. "I fear it might seem rude, but I have a quirk regarding scars. You see where I am from most everybody knows how I got mine." He brushed back his spiked locks and touched his lightning shaped affliction. "How did you come by your mark?"  
  
With that Philippe unconsciously rubbed The scar that traced from the corner of his mouth across his cheek. "I earned it in a wizards' duel" He said by way of response.  
  
"A duel, with wands?"  
  
"With spell-charged swords."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Philippe took a long drought of his wine. His eyes lost the bored glaze that had filled them most of the night and became animated. A fire of passion lite them. "It traces back to Rome in the height of the Empire. Roman Wizards sought a way to settle personal differences in front of witnesses. Errant curses proved to dangerous to spectators you see?" He continued when Harry nodded his comprehension. "They took the idea from the Muggle Coliseum. A wizard empowers a specially crafted blade with a charm, usually the stunning curse or the sleeping charm. The combatants duel until one Wizard stands victorious. It was banned by most countries when the modern Ministries were formed, but in recent centuries it has made a resurgence. I have dueled for four years now.  
  
"Amazing." Philippe's narrative had enthralled Harry. "So the blades are constantly charged with a spell?"  
  
"No. That is too taxing for most. It is only a master duelist who can maintain that level of energy for the duration of the duel. Mostly its just a matter of picking the right moment. As you can imagine those moments in time prove quite elusive." With a smile he sat back. It was as if he was reliving a fight in his mind.  
  
"Wow. That is so cool." Harry licked his lips. Nervously he asked, "Could you show me."  
  
"Yes."  
  
***  
  
Harry found himself in the weight room of his suite. They had excused themselves from the table and Harry had sent an elf off to receive Philippe's effects. The elf returned quickly, burdened by a heavy chest. Philippe relieved the creature of his load and dismissed the helpful elf. Alone, Philippe proceeded with the demonstration. He placed the chest on the end on a nearby weight bench. The chested opened out like a cabinet. Inside was what appeared to be a dueling outfit and a large sword. Philippe rolled up his sleeves and took the sheathed sword from its resting place. If Harry had to guess, he say the sheathed blade was three feet long. The hilt appeared to be adorned with burnished silver. With a loud rasping shriek Philippe withdrew the blade from its plain sheathe. It was a far different blade from the sword Harry used to slay Syltherin's Basilisk. It was almost like it was made of interlocking segments of metallic material. The entire length seemed like it was composed of serrated triangles of metal hammered peak of triangle into the base of the next. It was bluish with a pebbly hide-like texture.  
  
"All blades need to be fashioned with a mixture of relics from magical flora or fauna. My blade is Frost Wyrm scales molded around traditional steel. The shape of each segment needed to be triangular because that is the shape of an individual scale. No other reason than that. Before many a match I was taunted about the odd shape of my blade." He sliced the air with incredible alacrity for a blade of such size.. "Most find little to laugh about during a bout. Frost Wyrm scale is incredibly light."  
  
"Could you charge it please. I would really like to see that." Harry said with admiration  
  
"Of course." Philippe ceased The movement of the blue blade and drew his brows with concentration. Under his breath he whispered the stunning charm and the blade erupted with aura of sickly yellow light. It enveloped the hilt completely and cascaded in a rush to a sharp tip. A moment later the magic settled down and pulsed audible up and down the length of the blade. Phillip began again, the strain of the magic audible in his voice "When a cold blade is empowered, the effect of the charm works anywhere within an inch radius of the blade itself. After the magic hugs the blade one needs to score a direct hit on his opponent." With a sigh he disengaged the charm and panted slightly. The yellow light flickered briefly and died out as suddenly as it had appeared. Philippe then inverted the blade and gingerly held the blade between thumb and index finger. He pointed the cold silver pommel at Harry. "Give it a try. You know the stunning charm, yes?"  
  
More than a little honored Harry nodded accepted the blade. Testing the blade for himself Harry found that Philippe's assertions were correct. The sword weighted event less that a baseball bat! Steeling himself Harry thrust the blade in front of himself and held it far from his body. He didn't want to stun himself or slash himself to ribbons. With a gulp he quietly uttered the invocation of the charm and waited. Nothing happened. Philippe looked a little disappointed. "Don't feel bad, some can never empower a blade and others need to train for year..." Philippe was cut of as a golden light exploded from the blade like the flames form a large golden torch. The humming of the blade was loud, like a discordant choir localized in Harry's fist.  
  
A look of shock and something close to exultation danced across Philippe's face."Well. You have a gift it, it seems. Train it. I would love to duel against you."  
  
***  
  
Rita Skeeter stared at the scroll in front of her. Her glasses hung an a small chain around her neck. She was on probation. She had been required to transcribe the stories of walk-ins for the past three weeks since she published something unflattering about His Bloatedness Cornelius Fudge. The owners of the Daily Prophet were not amused. *Imagine, Rita Skeeter forced to write about zoning laws and lost cats. It was an outrage. A waste of tine until that fellow Boot walked in. What a scoop! She would show that Fudge. Hmm... what to write. Savior Slammed by Fudge? Maybe it would work. She'd teach Fudge a thing or too about messing with Rita Skeeter. Best of all she would be keeping her oath to awful Granger girl. It was all true!* With that she took up her quill like a knight would his sword. Anyone walking near Rita's cubicle quickly hastened their pace as loud cackling escaped into the crowded office.  
  
End 10  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Some more head way. Hedwig has not disappeared, she is just with Sirius. I shouldn't have said that, no I shouldn't said that. As I have just read Order of The Phoenix for The first time, I am willing to take suggestions an how to integrate The plot of the text with my story. The Prophecy suits my needs as does Professor Umbridge. Anything else?  
  
Lady FoxFire: Kudos to you for picking up the Die Hard reference. I couldn't help it.  
  
To all my reviewers, near and far, frequent and rare, I salute you. Thank you.  
  
That means all of you: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan,Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, and Myrddin Ambrosius. You feedback is greatly appreciated. I consider all of you suggestions. 


	11. Chapter 11: All Things Concerning

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 11  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius, for that you can ...  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 11: All Things Concerning Heavenly Bodies  
  
The pair had slipped back to the table and Philippe bade Harry goodbye after wrangling the promise that he would seek a sword master to train under. Harry beckoned for a servant to clear the table and suggested they adjourn to one of the sitting rooms to take dessert. Now sitting on a plump, plush couch in the "balcony room" as Harry had taken to calling it, the young exile was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. It was approaching Midnight and the day's excitement had taken its toll on Gabrielle. The small French girl had curled up and nestled into the crook of his arm and was presently snoring delicately. Her own veela charms were yet dormant with youth and sleep. Fleur was another matter. She had taken the right cushion as her seat and placed her hand familiarly on his arm. Without a doubt she was breath-taking in the candle light and had not changed from the confident girl who had robbed many boys of coherent thought during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Being alone in a hotel room with a beautiful French girl would normally be a problem, either insuring trouble or misunderstanding. Of course her parents were out holding hands on the balcony and she was concerned with one thing: Bill Weasley.  
  
"But you must tell me, what does this Bill do?" Her eyes were keen and speculative. Obviously the long haired, cowboy boot wearing, dragon fang earring bearing Bill Weasley had left an impression on the silver-haired girl. Harry struggling for breath to mange speech and to quell the rising surge of amusement he felt. Eventually he managed to describe some of Bill's tomb-raiding antics which he had heard from Ron to his old rival. The idea of the irresistible Bill Weasley donning a fedora dodging traps and rogue goblins in Egyptian tombs proved too much for Fleur. She excused herself and all but ran to her house where she wold write her first letter of correspondence with the eldest Weasley son. With Fleur gone Harry was free to chuckle.  
  
"Bill will not know what hit him." He said to no one in particular. " And how about you Gabrielle, will you forget all about me shall I wait six years to run away with you ?" He asked the dozing form of Gabrielle Delacour. He began to ease her towards the cushioned arm of the couch when she mumbled the name "Micah" in her slumber. With mirth in his eyes Harry brushed an errant lock away from her eyes and retorted to her nocturnal admission, "Traitor, I guess not."  
  
Rising from his seat of the past two hours Harry stretched his stiff joints. Content with the course of the nights event Harry strode out to the dais to speak with Montrose and Angelique. The couple were specking in low, reverent voices as they admired the lantern-lite view of midnight Marseilles. It was quite spectacular. The warrens and random turns of Rue de la Sorc that had baffled Harry on the trek to The Pillar were themselves a strict pattern. The outlying paths of the magical district traced the shape of a bird with wings unfurled. Also if one looked close enough one noticed that the lantern lights mirrored the summer time horizon. Even with his less than scholastic efforts at astronomy Harry could discern a number of constellations depicted by the district's lights. For some reason order being buried in what seemed chaotic uplifted Harry's spirits.  
  
"Remarkable is it not?" came the distinctly feminine voice of Angelique Delacour. The dulcet tones overrode his thoughts and he was forced to pay attention to her. His curiosity regarding Philippe and his discourse with Montrose and Fleur had prevented him from truly seeing the woman. Now in the pale moonlight he could only applaud the good fortune of Montrose Delacour. If Fleur had been stunning at first glance, Angelique was radiant. Garbed in a simple white robe, the clothing provided no distraction to the beauty of her appearance. Ivory skin and sharp yet flowing features screamed her Veela heritage. If she was only one half Veela than it was no wonder he was willing to throw himself out of the box to impress the Bulgarian team mascots at last year's World Cup. Yet a night in close quarters with Fleur had dulled him to her supernatural charms. Had she just walked up to him he probably would have fallen to knees in adoration. She was aptly named, truly and angel on earth.   
  
"Yes. Such subtlety. I should have known though. I passed such streets as Orion's belt and the corner of Vega and Deneb." She laughed with delight.  
  
"The summer triangle," she motioned to a triangular ward of the district. "That is where our home is. No one in Marseilles fails their astronomy, they have only to remember their home. Such cheaters we are." She grinned a mischievous little grin.  
  
"Ah but does little good for the winter sky my love" interjected Montrose. "As found out in my first year at Beauxbatons." They both laughed, reminiscing of years long past. The trio stood that way for a few more moments before Montrose sighed. "We must depart, I am afraid. Philippe is only in for the week, he has duel two days hence. You will come?" Angelique had ducked in to check on Gabrielle.  
  
"If I can. I fear I've much work to do. I must prepare myself for the journey east. "  
  
"Ah. That is unfortunate, Philippe must really like you to be as open as he was. His parents worry so unnecessarily about him." He whistled under his breath. "You should see him duel. It is bad luck that the only bout his family witnessed was the one when..." He made a motion across his cheek to symbolize the scarring of the Frenchman. "He is formidable."  
  
"I can imagine. If I can I will be there, but..." he trailed off. Montrose understood.  
  
"Well I must thank you. Dinner was exquisite and the view, well how often does one get to see his home as it meant to be seen?" He patted Harry's shoulder affectionately. Soft music wafted out from the suite. Angelique had picked up her youngest and was humming a lullaby as she stroked the small girl's ringlets. The picture of mother and daughter struck Harry quite violently. It reenforced the long accustomed ache that he felt when he saw another's family.  
  
"You are truly blessed Monsieur Delacour." Harry said as he tried to hide his growing loneliness. The man merely beamed at the swaying form of his wife and grasped Harry's hand by way of farewell. How nice, he'd managed to hide his sorrow from his guest.  
  
***  
  
After the Delacours had left Harry settled down into a fitful sleep. Old pains reemerged and his scar woke him out just as the sun was rising. There was no vision of Voldemort merely a sense of triumph. Harry guessed Riddle had learned of his exile, though how he could only guess. The names Falstaff or Malfoy sprung readily to mind. He could not be certain. After that galling awakening Harry found peace elusive. Restless he arose from bed and bathed. After opting to take an early breakfast downstairs Harry found himself being ushered to a secluded nook of the dinning area. The tasty meal of cheese, porridge and coffee revitalized the young wizard. For a while he was content to watch the mounting activity around him. The stumbling of early rising wizards and hung-over muggles returned to Harry a sense of normality that had long escaped him.  
  
Quite suddenly he was interrupted from unrolling the newspaper that the waiter had given him after clearing away his dishes and refilled his coffee. A loud, reprimanding hoot disturbed the dull morning atmosphere as a snow white owl swooped across the dinning area. It was Hedwig! She circled his sitting from and landed heavily on the table. She was too thin, with ruffled feathers from the long journey. Before Falstaff's attack he had sent her with a message to Sirius. Obviously she had flown the long distance from England to Marseilles, using the bond formed between wizard and familiar to locate him. He quickly lifted her to his chest and promptly received a sharp nip on his nose.  
  
"Don't be like that. I couldn't very well help being exiled now could I?" Hedwig hooted contemptuously and twisted out of his grasp. She landed back on the table and turned her back on him. After much cajoling and pleading she eventually gave in and nipped his finger affectionately. She stuck out her leg to give notice to small document she had borne across continental Europe. It was letter from Sirius! Desperately Harry untied the missive form the leg of his owl and read.  
  
Harry,  
  
Stop blaming yourself. IT WAS NOT YOUR FAULT. I'm sure you did all you could. Can't talk for long, I think one of the locals is on to me. Time to move on. Don't let your bloody Uncle badger you anymore. Tell him I'm going to hex his face off.  
  
Stay safe,  
  
"Snuffles"  
  
How trivial his past concerns seemed. He had bothered Sirius with his guilt, distracted a fugitive from his flight. Now as an exile he could appreciate the enormity of his mistake. Poor Sirius, Harry doubted his godfather had heard of his exile being as isolated from the wizarding world as he was. He would definitely need to draft a letter to inform Sirius of his state. For a minute he sat pondering the plight of both his godfather and himself and was overcome with melancholy. With a sigh he opened the discarded newspaper and stroked Hedwig. Idly he perused the headline.  
  
His fingers stopped moving and his eyes widened in shock. The paper read "BRITISH FUGITIVE APPREHENDED BY DUTCH POLICE." Under the headline was a picture that was unmistakably of Sirius struggling in the custody of law enforcement officers. The moving image depicted the anger and rage of his godfather as he fought to escape from the clutches of his captors.  
  
End 11  
  
Author's notes:  
  
Well there's Hedwig and Sirius all in one chapter. The summer triangle, according to some, consists of the three brightest stars of the summer sky: Deneb, Vega, and Altair. As to his broom, it was taken from him when he was charged and confiscated because of the manner of his defense against Falstaff's attack. Ten points to anyone who catches the three implications of the title.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated. I consider all of you suggestions. 


	12. Chapter 12: A Fine Day For Ruin

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 12  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius, for that you can ...  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 12: A Fine Day For Ruin  
  
Tallard Boot was on a raid. He had volunteered for this one like he had for every other one that had came up since Potter's exile. That was three raids in as many days. Most thought he was bucking for promotion. Bright red curses lanced through the dim morning light of this Dover slum. A cartel of Dark relic smugglers had gathered to trade and sell. So far six squads had shown up as back-up and a dozen more were on route. Boot and his comrades had been the ones to lay down the temporary anti-apparition wards; the most dangerous work because they couldn't move after there charms were laid. Each member of the six man squad had to act as nodes for the wards to remain intact. Boot had opted for exposed position in the north quadrant, he had opted to be the bait node.  
  
Now bearing down upon a faceless army of criminal wizards, Tallard met every curse hurled at him with either a shield charm or a deflection charm. Explosions of spell energy erupted in mid air as attacker met defender, auror met smuggler. The cacophony was music to ears of the repentant auror. *Maybe I'm going to turnout like Moody.* Boot ponder idly as he fired of a quick "Stupify." In the midst of a war zone in the false dawn Tallard Boot knew it was going to be a wonderful day. Well for some anyway.  
  
***  
  
Rita Skeeter keep her silence charm firmly around here as she crept out of the layout room. It was exactly 7:03 am ministry time. At 7:05am the front page was magically whisked away to the presses. The delivery owls were dispatched with their bundles and 7:30am. Just in time for breakfast. With any luck no one would notice her switch and she would be at home taking a long soak with a bottle wine. The only thing better than a job well done was a plot covertly achieved. With some creative knife-work she had cut out the article bordering that foolish picture of Fudge. *Imagine being photographed with that silly bowler! How obtuse.* The article itself was of no consequence, merely some sycophantic claptrap churned out by one of the drones on the third floor. *Full confidence of the public indeed. Well we'll see how the polls handle Mr. Fudge after Tallard Boot's, under an assumed name of course, tells his story, with contributions by herself of course.* It was evident that probation did not agree with Rita.  
  
Looking both ways as she gently closed the door behind her, Rita began to whistle a jaunty tune. She even smiled at the front clerk as she flounced out of the Daily Prophet after depositing her mediwizard's note on her editors desk. A sick day was what Rita Skeeter needed. A day to relax, to longue, and most importantly to dodge the imminent explosion. Yes for Rita Skeeter nothing was better than a good article except for one written with her patented brand of malice. Looking up at the overcast sky melting in the path of the rising sun Rita could only think of how wonderful it was to be a reporter.  
  
***  
  
Lucius Malfoy bore a smug look. Of course for a noble son of the Malfoy line smug was the default setting. It was he who brought Falstaff into the fold. All those dinners with Fudge and late night consultations proved fruitful after all. The constant exposure to the Office of The Minister had earned him a place as a confidante. Lucius knew the inner workings and relationships of Fudge's government better than he did his own son. Of course for a noble son of the Malfoy line knowing one's offspring came second to commanding them.  
  
Falstaff's story was a familiar one. A prominently placed pureblood wizard jilted by his fiance for a muggle born. His grief and betrayal were suitable grounds for the twisting of him into a tool of the Deatheaters. Grief could easily be channeled into hate; hate towards the impure. For Lucius, a veteran of the first war, such machinations proved too easy. Falstaff had become a believer in the inherent divinity of wizardkind and none was more devout than a convert. Having a wizard close to the Minister was crucial but even the Dark Lord himself could not predict the full effect of the initiate's action. Fudge had played so effectively into their hands that it was as if Lucius was whispering directlyinto his ear. Potter had been removed irrevocably. The Dark Lord would win the war long before Potter could return or Dumbledore could unravel Fudge's incompetence.  
  
With a particularly malicious grin Lucius remembered the glee that his and Falstaff's report had brought to the master. It was a quite a coup and was the first step to phasing that fool Wormtail out of the inner circle. Now he was at the master's right hand with, to a lesser extent, his convert Gavin Falstaff. Yes with Harry Potter cast to the wolves on the continent and Fudge turned on "dissenters" it was a wonderful time to be a Deatheater.  
  
***  
  
The scuttle-but was that Fudge was going to take the brunt of that Potter business. No if, ands, or buts about it, Fudge had stuck his neck out with that Falstaff affair. A pity that when he pulled it back he'd lost that stupid bowler. Malcolm Dawkins supposed that was the price of being a public figure. All that influence, all that power, but not a leg to stand on when the times got tough. Yes it was moments like these that Dawkins repeated the mantra of every minor official and dignitary in the world: Plausible deniably. With that came the equally soothing term of: Negligible accountability. *Why Dawkins had just been doing his job, done only what his superiors wanted. He had felt sorry for Potter, no no, he had felt sorry for Harry. Poor lad, a bit of bad luck was all.* Malcolm Dawkins had not survived seventeen years in the Ministry to fall with the likes of Cornelius Fudge.  
  
Dawkins quickly eased on his outer robe and punched out for a coffee break. Looking up at the sun a few hours short of it's full zenith, all the grey clouds being scorched by its cleansing rays, Dawkins could not help but wonder about the poor souls that were less fortunate than he.  
  
***  
  
Percy Weasley was still in charge of the office. McTavish's was still on vacation but Langley was due back from running the seminar circuit on the continent some time today. After his little outburst during the Ministry Assembly, Percy had been given his notice: he was to resign when the office could be manned by a "loyal" Ministry Official. This didn't bother Percy in the slightest. The work had proved beyond him, 130 hour week was no longer Percy's idea of his civic duty. Of course McTavish had a tendency to "lose track of time" during his fishing trips. In all likelihood he was halfway to Ireland on his skiff Ahab trawling for the one that got away. The fishing enthusiast was more than a little obsessive about his recreation.  
  
So Percy was forced to work and wait until Miss Langley deigned to make an appearance. She was late but she usually was. It would be with great relish that Percy would drop the mounting caseload onto her lap. Yes, fingers worked to the bone with baggy eyes and unkempt hair Percy Weasley waited to vacate his post. He was looking out over the mountain of paperwork towards the one window in the office when the door swung open.  
  
"I'm BAAACK!" declared Langley in her high nasal voice that made Percy winch. Suddenly a bird chirped and Percy noticed how fine a day it was. Quickly grabbing his coat he motioned toward the mounds of document pileds on every available inch of desk space. On top of his desk however was a neatly written letter of resignation attached to the Minister's notice.  
  
"It's all your yours." He quickly said as slide past her and out of the office all the time humming merrily. Yup, it was a fine day to be unemployed. He wondered what the twins were up to. Well he had time to find out now.  
  
***  
  
It was nine o'clock and Cornelius Fudge was just settling in for a days work. He had cold cloth that he used to wipe his brow every few minutes and occasionally he would take a deep gulp from the large cup of Irish coffee on his desk. He loved times like these, times before his work found him. After that ordeal with Potter, Fudge had given Gavin the week off. *The poor man had suffered two much stress recently to be productive to the Office. First his fiancé and that nonsense with the Deatheater robe. A ghastly business that was, but where did Potter find a robe like that in the muggle world.* His voice of reason quickly commanded him against further speculation.  
  
*No matter, the boys is gone now anyway.* With a sigh he learned back in his high back chair and patted the damp cloth upon his neck. Reaching for his coffee he was startled when both of the massive doors to his office exploded open. The intrusion caused him to spill the hot beverage on himself. Hissing in pain Fudge watched as his Press Analyst and Foreign Liaison dashed toward him with desperate expressions upon their faces. When they reached his desk, panting, the both began speaking in a rush.  
  
'Minister, the Dutch have Black but won't extradite him!" exclaimed the one on the left.  
  
"Sir, you need to see the Prophet, " urged the frazzled man on the right.  
  
His Liaison started speaking quickly about Due Process and some such thing as Fudge opened the newspaper that was dumped into his coffee stained lap. Time seemed to screech to a halt for Fudge. He no longer heard the prattle that the two men were spouting, only the pulse of his own blood in his ears. Before him was a picture of himself smiling blissful on the front page. The headline screamed "CORRUPT CORNELIUS BLAMES BOY-WHO-LIVED." Underneath was a full account of the events that Fudge had been assured was privileged. Looking out the window, searching for a way to deny this horrible happening, Fudge noticed that it was actually pretty nice out. A fine day indeed, a terrible week: most definitely.  
  
End 12  
  
Author's Notes  
  
Well now we know what the rest of England has been up too the past few days. Next chapter I promise you will revolve completely around Harry and the Living, yes Living not dead and never dead, Sirius Black.  
  
Oh and ten points to oceanic, Kota Dawn and ZeonReborn for getting my intentions from the last chapter's title.  
  
To any of you who have added me or my story to you favs list and to each and everyone who has read this fic, I thank you.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, Jason Gregory, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I mess anyone, you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions. 


	13. Chapter 13: Block Not His Path

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 13  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 13: Block Not His Path  
  
As soon as he read the article regarding Sirius in The Oracle, Harry immediately summoned an elf to get his trenchrobe from his suite. While he waited for the elf he removed his glasses and flicked them quickly. This action caused the lenses of his new glasses to tint; one of the many features of his new eye wear. With a loud crack the elf popped back into existence next to him with his black dragon hide overrobe. Nodding with his thanks and his dismissal he deftly adorned himself in the heavy robe. Then he started walking. He didn't run. Running implies undue recklessness and a sense of desperation. Harry merely walked very quickly and very briskly. No one got in his way because all noticed the look of determination behind his dark glass veiled eyes. Striding quickly with a palpable resolve in his aura all went to great lengths to get out of his way. In a manner of moments he was at the public fireplace. Flinging Floo Powder atop the blaze and crying "Marduk's" he barely waited for the fire to turn green before he steeped into the fire pit. The opulent atmosphere of The Pillar gave way to the musty, narrow entry hall of Marduk's law office. As was his custom he was hurled with violent force out of the fire place but this time he landed on his feet and keep walking.  
  
*The large door is in my way. That won't do.* With a flick of his wrist he used his snugly harnessed wand. Loudly Harry proclaimed "Alohamora" in a tone that dared the door to remain closed. Both oak doors ripped apart and there was the sound of twisted metal as Harry's spell abused the hinges. The impressive tapestries and busts did not interest Harry right now. What was important was that his godfather was being held captive. He just keep walking. A very flustered Jean Paul accosted him in the foyer, obviously not recognizing Harry with his new accessories and clothing. He gave a very perturbed "Monsieur" but stopped talking when Harry lowered his spectacles marginally and brushed his spiky bangs away from his famous scar. This revelation did little to soothe the clientele gathered in the entrance awaiting there appointments. They didn't matter to Harry, any distraction was incidental and irrelevant. He started walking again despite the placating gestures Jean Paul was making.  
  
He took the staircase two steps at a time and ignored the calls of the Frenchmen behind him. The calls stopped, either because Jean Paul gave up or he was getting security. Jean Paul didn't matter to Harry. The man, as pleasant as he was, was incidental and disruptive to his current course and therefore a liability. Time was the enemy right now and so was anyone that wasted precious seconds. Climbing another flight of stairs in a handful of heartbeats Harry took the left and stopped at the arched door before Marduk's office. Instead of blowing this door open with the Unlocking Charm Harry opted to take a cleansing breath. It came out ragged and in a rush. Frustrated that he could find the focus he sought Harry lashed out at the marble wall to his right. The wet impact of his flesh hitting stone jarred his impatience. The pain that followed consumed the anxiety he had been feeling and forced him into a calmer state of mind. Steeling himself Harry rapped lightly on the door.  
  
A voice called from within. "Come in Monsieur Potter." Swiftly Harry opened the door a little and slipped inside, closing I behind him. Once inside Harry recognized the familiar setting of Marduk's spacious chambers. However what was different was that one of the two leather chairs before his desk was occupied. Sitting there was a attractive women of some 30 years garbed in a muggle business suit. Her dark hair was clasped tightly in a bun behind her head and she hugged a leather portfolio to her chest. A well-plucked eyebrow rose questioningly at him as he marched towards Marduk's desk. "Valerie may introduce Harry Potter, successor to the Orchard Conglomerate. Monsieur Potter, this is Valerie Falkirk, my partner and chief of the firm's eastern branches." This information seemed to impress the woman and she stood up.  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Potter." Her English was touched with the same Slavic influence that had plagued Viktor Krum's speech though without he mangled syllables. "It is quite serendipitous that we should meet like this. Martine and I were just discussing your account. I understand that you plan on join us in Bulgaria. We will, perhaps, be seeing very much of one another." She extended her hand and after he shook it, made moves to vacate the office.  
  
Tentatively Harry called out. "Wait." She turned and looked back at him with an expectant gaze. "I have a legal issue that needs to be resolved immediately. I am sure that if you Monsieur Marduk could conclude it with relative ease." She nodded her acquiescence and walked back to her seat. Certain that he had the undivided attention of his legal counsel Harry paused for a breath and removed the paper from where he stuffed it in his right pocket. He looked back at the grandfather clock squirreled away in the corner. The clock read 9:07 am, London time was an hour earlier. "Have you both had opportunity to read The Oracle this morning?"  
  
"Ah that murderer Black has been caught, yes?" Marduk ventured. He had read the paper but was wondering what his client was getting at. Falkirk nodded her agreement with this thought as well.  
  
"Yes Sirius Black has been caught. That much is common knowledge now. What is not known is that he actually innocent of all charges and that he is my Godfather." His legal council merely blinked at this. "He did not kill those Muggles nor did he slay the wizard Peter Pettigrew. The latter is something that profoundly regrets. He was framed you see. The proof is that Pettigrew is alive and responsible for the return of Voldemort." The name caused them to flinch slightly, not because they feared it like the British but because of the chaos the man had brought to the world twenty years ago.  
  
Weakly Falkirk uttered, "He's back?" Riddle's reach apparently spread into the nightmares of continental Europeans. That was disconcerting. Silently Harry cursed his ignorance to events of Voldemort's Rise and the death of his parents. Marduk simply nodded silently. He was staring intently at Harry.  
  
"This is all truth isn't it? Black is innocent?" the French lawyer queried.  
  
"I'll take Veritaserum if it would convince you or any one who asked. However if Sirius is extradited to Britain he'll receive the Dementor's Kiss without question." In a low tone Harry added, "He didn't even get a far trial the first time. I know what that's like." The last escaped his lips in a bitter tone."  
  
A light of compassion dawned in the eyes of Marduk and he quickly scrawled a note. He whistled a piercing note and his tawny owl flew from his perch to the desk. The text was in a different language, seemingly German. He understood the signature though: Henrik. Marduk was writing to his other partner. Falkirk noticed this too. In her haste and excitement her English lapsed.  
  
"Vhat vas tat?" She asked.  
  
Marduk waited for his owl to exit the office before he responded. With a languid stretch he settled back and beamed a small smile. "I have asked Wilhelm to sandbag the Black case. At least until we get there. Interested in a trip to the Hague Valerie?" asked Marduk innocently.  
  
***  
  
A heavy fist beat on the door and a harsh voice commanded him to shut up. All and all, the Dutch prison was far more comfortable than Azkaban. He was resting on a clean cot and not a wet, dank floor. It was quiet, lacking the crashing of the waves and sobbing of the inmates that echoed about the Isle of Azkaban. The only downside was that the guards didn't speak English but well, then neither did the Dementors. Sirius would take a surly, burly native of the Netherlands than one of those soul-sucking fiends any day. Not that it was up him though. It wasn't exactly the Four Seasons but what could he do? He was a prisoner after all. The manacles chaffed his wrists. Sirius supposed he could "go dog" but that would ruin the element of surprise. There was little doubt that he was being monitored. It would be best to wait until they moved him before trying a daring escape. For not the first time during a stint of incarceration Sirius wished James was here. *No one could pick a lock like James Potter.* That sentiment brought the usual racks of guilt that any thought the Potters inflicted upon him. After that came the standard rage towards Peter and then the guilt at failing Harry. It was a common cycle that Sirius' psyche had perfected over fifteen years of imprisonment.  
  
Suitably depressed Sirius began thumping his foot against the concrete wall. Not hard, just enough to break the tedium. From that he graduated to counting grooves on the ceiling and then to whistling old folk songs. His tune did in mid-blow when the slat covering the speech grating. Wasn't the guard this time, it was that prosecutor who was trying to get him extradited. He seemed upset. How interesting. "Black, visitors. Your lawyers." All Sirius could think was *What Lawyers?*  
  
***  
  
The Dutch Ministry building was situated deep in the Hague. In the close quarters no muggle would notice an odd flow of traffic. Like most magical districts it was buried beneath the twists and turns of abstract urban planning. For one brief instant Harry swore he walked into that bizarre staircase room from the movie Labyrinth. Eventually the trio made it to the imposing edifice of the Dutch Ministry. The building itself was situated in the bowels of the Hague about two miles from the surface. For a moment Harry considered questioning the purpose of rain spouts this far under ground but thought better of it.  
  
A tall man in set of black robes greeted them from the entrance. "Guten Tag Mein Herr Marduk." greeted then man who was presumably Wilhelm Henrik. "My associates have descended upon the building with all the documentation they could raise at such short notice. " The imposing man grinned a sharks grin and continued, "The Dutch Prosecutors and English Liaisons can't quite deal with eighty two separate motions at once. I trust this is what you meant by 'stonewall'?"  
  
Marduk's laugh bubbled up from depths of his belly as he realized what his partner had accomplished. "As always Wilhelm you exceed all expectations. Monsieur Potter here is, no doubt, grateful for your efforts on his behalf. Introductions will have to wait for a more suitable time. Our business here needs immediate attention since out client almost shattered my door with haste. Come let us enter." The three legal titans walked in formation with Falkirk and Henrik flanking Marduk. They strode up the stairs into underground government building with Harry trailing slightly behind them looking just a little bit sheepish.  
  
The front door opened automatically before the party as they marched into the Dutch Hall of Justice. The only way to describe the scene before them was that it was one of bureaucratic chaos. Para-legals and office workers were scrambling to resolve the ambush Henrik had perpetrated. Yet all paper shuffling and background noise ceased as Marduk, Henrik, and Falkirk came into view. Then someone screamed "All three of them!" Another fainted. Many swore. Apparently Harry's lawyers had quite a fearsome reputation in legal circles. An associates in drab grey anxiously directed them out of the main work area and to the holding area. Gulping he pointed at an impressively fortified interrogation room. "He's in there." Gasped the man before he hurried away.  
  
End 13  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Well Sirius' fate is in the capable hands of Marduk, Henrik and Falstaff. I figure he's safe with their formidable legal prowess and Harry's recently acquired fortune.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions. 


	14. Chapter 14: The Will of Wealth and Power

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 13  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
Chapter 14: The Will of Wealth and Power   
  
Sirius Black sensed something was wrong. Call it intuition, divination or pure animal instinct, he could plainly feel that something was wrong with his current situation. He was ushered rather politely into the absurdly secure interrogation room and then released from his manacles. Time seemed to blur and he was no longer content to sit immobile in the unyielding metal chair. He started pacing. Not very productive but it was a way to vent without blatantly screaming in frustration. Suddenly Sirius remembered why pacing was contrary to a stable mental state. Whenever he paced, his paranoia grew in leaps and bounds. After only a few minutes of stalking back and forth across the room Sirius had managed to convince himself that Voldemort was poised outside to fire a Killing Curse when he dropped his guard.  
  
Violently shaking himself out of his over zealous imaginings, Sirius reluctantly crept back to the cold seat. With a sigh he slumped down and waited for whatever lawyer or Deatheater walked through the door. He would be equally disgusted with either. The door swung open and three imposing figures walked in. The center man wore silk robes in a pastel blue and had greying hair at his temples. The man's expensive cologne tingled in the Animagus' sensitive nostrils. The women to the right sported a business suit and had her straight black hair was harnessed tightly in a bun. She would be devastatingly attractive were it not for the fact that she was scowling back in the direction they had come. The left figure was a cadaverous man of imposing height wearing jet black robes that seemed to permeate his personal space with an air of menace. His age was indeterminable at this distance. Whoever he was, his facial features were a mix of youthful eyes and sunken cheeks, Sirius guessed the man recently experienced either a great sickness or an even greater loss.  
  
"Er.. Hello?" Sirius greeted the strangers. As varied as his experience was, he had never seen such an odd collection of people. This even outshone Dung's first and last Christmas party back in '78. The center man, presumably the leader, beamed a blissful smile. The haggard man motioned for the younger woman to sit as he cleared his throat.  
  
"I am Wilhelm Henrik, the lady is Valerie Falkirk. The August gentleman behind me is our mentor Martine Marduk. Together we are the senior partners of the firm Marduk, Henrik, and Falkirk." The man's consonants were crisp and hard, definitely German. "One of our clients has taken an interest in your case. As his family holds our firm on retainer for well into the twenty second century, my colleagues have decided to intercede on your behalf." Sirius merely looked on doubtfully. *No one in my homeland defended me when charges were brought, why would a bunch strangers risk being associated with me?*  
  
The seated woman schooled her features from the inexplicable scowl she once bore. Her voice was clear and her English without accent, like she was straining to ride herself of any inflection. "New testimony is being given by a reputable source. His information about your case and the current administration of Magical Britain should be enough to halt any deportation proceedings." Sirius could only shake his head in bafflement. The odds of new evidence turning up fifteen years after his trial were slim. He smelled a trap and leveled a glare at the supposed saviors assembled. It seemed his talent of intimidation had not completely exhausted itself. The woman quickly slide herself and her chair noisily away from the table. The tall German man shot Sirius a nasty look.  
  
"I don't buy it. There are three people in this world I trust and none of them are here. Whatever this 'new testimony' is, it is either false or sabotaged." coldly stated the fugitive. Suspicion came naturally to him now . Henrik opened his mouth to let fly with a retort but he was interrupted by a silencing gesture from Marduk.  
  
"Your concerns are both understandable and valid. You are quite obviously in a situation beyond your control and are lashing out at people who only mean to help you. Rest assured Monsieur Black, this is neither a trap nor a ploy to wrest a confession from you. Equally true is the existence of an informant who is, as we speak, testifying under Veritaserum as to your innocence. I believe him so I am forced to believe you as well." recited the Frenchman quickly. His eyes were no longer congenial, but weary. "While we do not expect gratitude for doing our jobs, we do require a measure of etiquette that you have yet to offer us."  
  
Sirius was more than a little taken back by the man's bluntness. Marduk did not seem to be the type of man who would easily forgo pleasantries. *Well its not like I have anything to lose.* "Alright, what do you want?"  
  
"Merely the answers to a few questions. You have been quiet while in custody here except for profanities leveled at the authorities. For piece of mind, The Dutch Ministry of Justice requires information regarding the events of Halloween 1981. As you saw them of course." This question was novel one for Black because his questioning had consisted more of comments like "Why'd you do it Black?" and "Who are your Deatheater friends?" A calm, rational question about the events which ruined his life had never been asked before. He paused to recollect the events of long ago.  
  
"Well, I'd just gotten off my shift at work. I'd inherited a bar, "Black's Cauldron", from my uncle when he died. It was a little run down and was near the entrance to Knock Turn Alley so it attracted a less than savory sort of clientele. Since the sterling folk and the shady sort don't like consorting with each other, Black's Cauldron got some of the crowd that wouldn't set foot in Diagon Alley. Not the sort of place I'd drink myself, but it was turning a tidy profit. But I digress. It was about 1:30 in the morning when I got back to my flat and turned on the wireless while I nursed a nightcap. I heard the breaking news about James and Lily and took off towards Wales. Landed in the Hollow at little before dawn, I met the Gamekeeper of Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid. He had my little Godson and was going to deliver him to Dumbledore. Seeing he couldn't be swayed I gave him my motorcycle and Apparated off in search of Peter Pettigrew." Sirius paused to take a deep breath and continued on. "They had cast a Fidelius Charm a week before and it was suspected that I was their Secret-Keeper. But I wasn't. I'd switched with Peter but he turned out to be a spy for Voldemort the entire time. I hunted him down to that street in Sussex but he blew up the alley behind him all the time naming me a traitor. Remus and I, we had always underestimated Wormtail. He was so timid and useless that we had stick up for him at school. I regret every thing I ever said in defense of that lousy bastard."  
  
It was Henrik who spoke up. "Who is Wormtail?"  
  
Sirius sighed and cupped his face hin his hands. Muffled though his response was, it was intelligible. "Wormtail was Peter, Moony was my friend Remus Lupin, and Prongs was James. I was Padfoot. Stupid juvenile nicknames for stupid juvenile guys." He let out a bitter laugh. "We were the Marauders, the preeminent mischief makers at Hogwarts. Right full of ourselves we were too. Thought we were untouchable."  
  
"And your escape from Azkaban?" asked Falkirk.  
  
"Dug my way out when I found out Peter was alive and well.' Sirius said while carefully omitting the fact that he was dog at the time he dog the tunnel and that he noticed Peter while he was a rat. They needn't be bothered with such trivial details as three of the Marauders being unregistered Animagi. The lawyers sat back and digested the brief synopsis of the night. There were gaps in his story but he seemed sincere. It was obviously painful for him to speak of. As they sat in silence with Black cradling his sorrow filled features in his calloused hands the door opened. It was one of the Dutch officials.  
  
He stood in the door and delivered his news. "The hearing is complete. Your man's testimony is irrefutable and more than adequate to cast doubt on any motions to extradite. Black will most likely receive political asylum here in the Netherlands and in any other nation you wish to petition Mister Marduk. Your witness' testimony was most enlightening and the actions of the British Ministry most appalling." Sirius raised an incredulous look at the Dutch man who had just pronounced him safe.  
  
"So I'm free?" asked Sirius with a tenuous voice.  
  
"Well here, but you cannot return to Britain until your Ministry settles the corruption charges the international magical community will soon be leveling against it. Your civil liberties were abused in a irredeemable fashion Mr. Black. Sentenced without trial and evidence as you were, it was a gross violation of the emergency powers that your government possesses." elaborated the Dutchman. "After the hardship you suffered at the zealous hands of our English brethren, we are obligated to extend a welcome to our country."  
  
Falkirk's eyes shone with a calculating gleam. "We will, of course, receive copies of the transcripts of the hearing and your full cooperation of your office, yes?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Excellent. How fares the motion to release our client?" continued the Slavic woman.  
  
"He shall be free within the hour. I trust you will handle the rest?" When he saw all three lawyers nod, he turned a left, letting the door close behind him.  
  
"Well, that was relatively painless now wasn't it?" beamed Marduk.  
  
"One wonders why it wasn't done fifteen years ago." growled Henrik.  
  
"Regardless, he should be here soon." speculated Falkirk.  
  
"Who?" asked a very relieved and a very confused Sirius Black. This was not what he had expected. All his problems seemed to be evaporating around him.  
  
"Our client. A fine young man, though a bit demanding at times." Marduk explained as the vault-like door to the room swing open. In walked a slender, dark, and looming figure. There was a slight creak of a raw hide garment as the man stepped through the open door. He was young, with gently spiked hair and dark glasses. The creak came from the large over-robe, voluminous to the extent that only the hands and face were apparent above a swirling mass of black-brown leather. He seemed oddly familiar and there was faint smile upon his lips. 'I believe you have met," continued Marduk as the figure approached the table where Sirius and Valerie were seated. "His name is Harry Potter."  
  
"Hello Snuffles." greeted the grinning features of his Godson  
  
End 14  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Sorry for the lateness of the chapter, but for numerous reasons I found this particular instalment difficult to write. I had contemplated writing a court scene in which Harry reveals the truth about Sirius and the sheer foolishness of his government, but I didn't have the heart to bog down the story with even more legal jargon. Also I was left dissatisfied with the fate of Sirius Black in the OOTP and the memory of his character compelled me to make at least one chapter based solely form his point of view. I will eventually write the original scene I had planned and possibly reveal it in the form of the court recordings or a flashback in a later chapter or story. Believe it or not I have a very precise goal for this story to the extent that half my efforts are devoted shaping it to fit one particular scene in the future. Unrealistic though it may be I well continue on as best I can. Hopefully I can produce another chapter tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Amazingly enough this story is a fluke of nature. No really, I started last March during a blizzard that confined me to my house.  
  
At this time I would like to thank three people in particular. Not that their praise was lavish or more meaningful than others but because it found me at the right time. To Nighttime Sunshine who was the first person to review the first piece of serious fanfiction I had ever committed myself to. To AJake for continued interest in my story even when it was ridiculously short. And to Lady FoxFire, whose first review was a challenge for me to keep her interest. I hope I have succeeded thus far and well continue to in the future.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions.  
  
Incidenty it has come up that I need beta readers. If you are interested or if you have any suggestions or questions about my work, feel free to e-mail me about them. The address in my FF.net account is accurate and I check my mail regularly. Bye. 


	15. Chapter 15: Thoughts, Deeds, and Letters

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 13  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 15: Thoughts, Deeds, and Letters of Lament  
  
First he babbled. Then he blathered, After a respectable period of blathering, Sirius fell into a simple dignified sputter that only the British are capable of. The last person he had expected to walk through the door was his Godson who was supposed to safe back in England. Harry's much changed figure was shocking to the stressed wizard. Marduk and Henrik quickly slipped out the door to discuss something amongst themselves in private.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here? And how do you know these people?" exploded Black.  
  
Harry hopped up on the metal table between Sirius and Falkirk unconcern with Sirius' loud voice. Legs swinging childishly under his trenchrobe he smirked at his baffled guardian. "Clearing you name O' Godfather of mine. To your second question: Marduk handles my ancestral holdings."  
  
"Oh. Okay. Thanks by the way. When Dumbledore reach you with the news of my capture?"  
  
"He didn't. I haven't spoken to Dumbledore since after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I read about you in a French newspaper this morning."  
  
"Why on earth would you subscription to a French newspaper?" asked Sirius.  
  
"Because it has refreshing news with different viewpoint that's not centered around hiding Voldemort's return. But I don't have a subscription." calmly replied Harry.   
  
"What? Did your Muggle relatives take you on a trip to France then?"  
  
"That would be the day. Uncle Vernon would sooner take up flamenco dancing than take me on holiday with him."  
  
Sirius was getting exasperated with the dialogue. "Then how?"  
  
"The waiter at my Marseilles hotel gave me a copy with my breakfast." evenly replied Harry. He was enjoying the frustration of his Godfather who normally held all the answers.  
  
"I didn't know you owned a hotel in France." expressed Sirius.  
  
"Neither did I until yesterday morning."  
  
"What happened yesterday morning?"  
  
Harry paused as if he had to search for the memory for the events of the previous day. Truth be told a lot had happened to Harry over the span of only four days. He shook off that line of thought and assumed an expression of elation as if he had just discovered something. Snapping his fingers across his lap he resumed his speech. "That's right. Yesterday morning I arrived in France after fleeing England to escape persecution from Minister Fudge and in abeyance of my banishment. So you see, rather routine stuff really." Harry said in a bland tone while examining his fingernails.  
  
Heavy, calloused hands flew to his shoulders and shook him. The desperate and frustrated move of his Godfather, while unexpected, did Harry no harm. However as a now standing Sirius jarred Harry's body, the violent bobbing of his head was enough to activate the tinting enchantment on his new glasses. Harry's world shifted from the dark one he had been accustomed to since he first shifted them in The Pillar's dining hall. First a bright rose color, then a painful yellow, and finally to the clear spectrum of regular glass. Valerie merely sat and looked on, disapproving of both Harry's and Sirius' antics.  
  
"If we are quite done." Said the scowling Slavic woman. In close quarters and in the absence of her mentor and associate, Falkirk seemed to put aside her harsh facade. Her look was of specific annoyance rather than a generic gaze of irratation. For some odd reason this made it seem more personal  
  
Immediately the pair stopped their struggle and listened as Falkirk explained to Sirius the events of Harry's exile. "So you see Mr. Black," she said in conclusion, "You are also an expatriate of Britain. The ban on associating with Englishmen is not applicable here or in any other country but the United Kingdom. Through you may make contact with your friends and countrymen, Harry cannot. He is completely set apart form everything he has known. Except for you"   
  
***  
  
Some would call Albus Dumbledore infallible. Indeed his power and cunning had, in the past, proved this sentiment to be true. That was the past. This was the present. He sat in his office surrounded by the paraphernalia of all his predecessors. Ancient and auspicious portraits looked down on him, some so old that the paintings themself had ceased movement. Fawkes crooned and chirped in front of him on his perch. Sitting back now, he truly examined the decisions he had made regarding Harry Potter. For the first time since Grindelwald, Albus felt a true sense of weakness. The events of August the third had spun out of even his control. The wards should have been impregnable. He had purchased strategically placed houses in Surrey and set up the largest Anti-Dark Circle in the recent history of magic. As a result there were few places that were as secure as that small suburb in Surrey. Albus had even gone as far as to set up Arabella Figg as a secondary line of defense with her countless Kneazles. It seemed flawless. But it was, admittedly, untested.  
  
Of course Albus should have known that his efforts to protect the boy had been for naught when he first noticed the thin, pale boy during his sorting. He should have listened to Minerva all those years ago and sent the boy anywhere else but the Dursleys. Unfortunately it was a mistake that could not be rectified. The familial bond between family that bound Petunia Dursley and Harry, be it ever so slight, was the crux the wards. She must have openly hated the boy for the wards to be as ineffective as they were. The Ministry had placed its own set of wards, despite his own assurances they were unnecessary. In the end it was the Ministry that had both saved and damned Harry. It saved him from the grasping hands of Voldemort but damned him to the a life of wandering. He had been so very wrong. His silver features were sunken with sorrow and his characteristic twinkle had fled from his eyes. Confronted by the immensity of his arrogance and failure, Albus felt immeasurably old. He could not speak to Harry, nor could he write. The child he spent the better part of two decades protecting was completely out of reach.  
  
And who did he own a debt to for telling him of the events that Cornelius had sought hide: Rita Skeeter. The same Rita Skeeter who had give him nicknames like "Dingbat" in her defamatory articles. He had been convinced the woman was incapable of acknowledging any fact or truth. Again he had been wrong. All support seemed to have left him. Even Remus was unavailable by Floo. The only person he had been able to reach with any first hand information that was willing to speak was Percy Weasley. He would be visiting Hogwarts tomorrow.  
  
His predecessors were quiet but they seemed to glare down at him. Had they failed as he had? Had all their lessons fallen into silence and obscurity? Had all their ideals been stripped away by the tide of public opinion and the vindictiveness of their leaders? If they had, how had they dealt with the growing ache of uselessness that now gripped Albus Dumbledore.  
  
***  
  
The first thing Sirius had done was Floo Professor Lupin. The bedraggled lycanthrope seemed overjoyed at the change in Sirius' luck and had insisted he know what was going on. These questions were not something Harry wanted to discuss with the disembodied head of his former teacher. As chance may have it, Moony had chosen to live in Muggle France and they had reached him in his Normandy cottage. Harry advised him to go to Marseilles because Marduk had informed him that Sirius was now welcome in France as well as the Netherlands. The flame enveloped features of Lupin were obviously impressed when he was told to meet them at The Pillar.  
  
That had been three hours ago and Harry was now audience to a fifth drunken rendition of "Four Green Fields." Sirius had been adamant they celebrate his freedom and the pair were well into there third bottle of Fire Whiskey. The normally calm and reserved werewolf had been matching Sirius shot for shot and any curiosity about Harry's presence melted away with each sip. Harry had taken a bit himself but found it less than drinkable. He was content to sit and thumb through a book as Sirius and Remus vented fifteen years of grief and sorrow.   
  
The tome before him was rather comprehensive but engrossing nonetheless. A book worthy of even Hermione's attention. The name drew a sharp pain as realization of his state came crashing down once again. He add tried to write them but Hedwig could not carry the letter. The address that usually appeared magically on the envelope came up black. Whatever charm or curse the legal sentence had placed on him was impossible to circumvent. He could reach Percy though, He knew that much. Slipping out of his chair and laying the Complete Works of Miranda Goshawk aside, he walked to desk in the balcony room and wrote. Long after the revelry of his Godfather and old mentor had ceased, Harry kept writing.  
  
End 15  
  
Author Notes.  
  
Well Dumbledore is a bit melancholy I know that, but he has sunken into brief depressions in the past. Rita's bombshell hit him ad the rest of Harry's friends kind of hard. It was really the only way I could portray him giving the course of events. But he's meeting Percy. My Percy and not the sycophant from OOTP, bear that in mind and give poor Perce the benefit of the doubt. I brought Lupin in rather fast and without any ceremony but I figure Moony would be the first person Sirius would want to talk to. Also given the fact that the last chapter was rather Sirius-centric, I ask you all to forgive me for not writing the segment where Sirius himself spoke with Lupin. I decided I need to speed things up a little because only four days has passed since Falstaff's attack. If it takes me three and half chapters to move the time frame ahead one day the fic would end up with an absurd chapter count. I plan on eventually moving into an almost completely Potter point of view. My entire "One man's Journey to grow strong enough to confront his nemesis and grow out of sheltered upbringing" has been hindered by my need to explore other characters. The story's moving along though and that's a good thing.  
  
Also a concern has been expressed about Harry's sudden change in vocabulary. His speech is not the problem though, its my habit as a narrator of expressing the thoughts of the characters like an all-seeing observer. Please only take speech and those *...* things as the only things directly from the characters. The rest s merely me waxing poetic will describing the mind set of the character, sometimes aptly, sometimes poorly, but never perfectly.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions.  
  
Incidently it has come up that I need beta readers. If you are interested or if you have any suggestions or questions about my work, feel free to e-mail me about them. The address in my FF.net account is accurate and I check my mail regularly. Bye. 


	16. Chapter 16: Until The Merging

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 13  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 16: Until The Merging of The Parted Way  
  
He had almost tripped over the damn thing when he stumbled down for breakfast. He hadn't noticed it lying next to the fireplace and as he walked past, he kicked it. Percy had other things on his mind. Dumbledore's plaintive message the previous night had robbed him of sleep. To see a man that his father so admired in such a desperate state had hurt Percy in a profound way. Dumbledore had always been a legend in the Weasley household, a subject of reverence and respect. The script that the letter had born was not the elegant style that one would normally associate with the Headmaster. Wild scrawling and scratched out words dotted the missive. Despite the frantic writing of the document the message was clear: Dumbledore wanted information. But he wasn't Percy's immediate concern. What concerned him was the large envelope sitting beside his teacup. It was marked "Care of Harry Potter" and bore the postmark of some hotel named The Pillar. He hadn't opened and felt reluctant to do so.  
  
Steeling himself with a slurp of cooling tea, he broke the seal and opened the flap of his correspondence with the Boy-Who-Lived. Out spilled numerous other envelopes and one crisp piece of expensive hotel stationary. It was a letter from Harry to him.  
  
Dear Percy  
  
Seems you're the only person at home to whom I can send mail, probably because you were my advocate during the trial. I guess that also means you'll be on deck for the hearing next year. I also figured I'd take advantage of this loophole and sent some of my aborted letters to my other friends with yours, I hope that this is not a problem. It's night now and I see the lights of Marseilles below me. France is such beautiful place with many wonderful things, but its not home. I find myself at a crossroads that I have had a long time to ponder. Hagrid once told me that I would be a "thumping good" wizard if had some training. From now on I need to strive to prove him right. Voldemort wants me dead and I need to grow powerful to resist him.  
  
Its funny but I thought it would be at Hogwarts that I'd learn the skills I'd need to survive in life. Obviously I was mistaken. I find that I cannot find safety in Beauxbatons either for Fudge has seen fit to blacken my name. Therefore it is to Durmstrang that I must go. Rather scandalous isn't it? That the Boy-Who-Lived will be studying at the darkest of magical institutions. I grow weary and unconcerned of scandal because there is little else I feel about it.  
  
I must thank you. You stood up for me and fought an admirable legal battle in the face of intense opposition. You should not be blamed for failure when the whole of you government was poised against you. I will arrange proper thanks when I am settle in Bulgaria. There is good news though. The events of my exile have left me in full ownership of my family inheritance, namely control of something called the Orchard Conglomerate and estates scattered across Europe. If you need to contact me send a letter via Martine Marduk, his firm handles my affairs. I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard very little of the British Isles the last few days and, truth be told, I don't care to. The memory of home and all that I have lost is not off set by my recent gains.  
  
Gratefully,  
  
Harry  
  
It was lot to take in. He merely finished of his tea and tucked the letters under his arm as he headed up the stairs to his siblings' rooms. They wouldn't awaken till at least noon. They had all been up late last night talking about Harry. Hopefully this would bring them some closure.  
  
***  
  
Sirius Black found the world quite painful this morning. Copious amounts of whiskey can do that to a man. Despite his dreadful hangover and pounding headache he had awoken without the gloom that had plagued his mornings the past decade and a half. He was free from Azkaban forever and safe from pursuit. Groggily, yet with a measure of cheer that he had not recently experienced, he arose from the couch he had eventually crashed upon the previous night. After a cursory search of the many rooms of Harry's suite he found himself alone. A quick shower later the ex-convict appeared more like a human than a filthy derelict. Decided less mangy he felt fresh enough to wander out in search of his errant Godson.  
  
The lobby was vast and relatively empty. Only a few busy wizards could be seen and they paid Sirius little heed. A delving search of the dining hall found Remus and Harry hunched over a large tome speaking in an animated fashion. He managed to catch the tail end of the discussion.  
  
"But if the golem is immune to direct spells how can you defeat one?" asked a confused Harry  
  
"Not immune, resistant. The golem's resistance to spells only refers to direct hits or organic hexes. This means Impedimenta or personal effect spells are useless. It's only stone though. You can fire objects at it with a Banishing charm or levitate the object it's standing on. They are rare though so you shouldn't be overly concerned. They act only under he strict orders of the wizard that crafted it and the process is too expensive to be truly viable for mass production," lectured Harry's favorite Defense teacher.  
  
"But what if the golem was jinxed so that all spells... Oh hey Sirius." The presence of his Godfather interrupted his current line of questioning. Sirius simply pulled up a seat and flipped to the front of the book. Turning his neck so that he wasn't looking at the text upside-down he read its title. "Gah, Creatures and Constructs. You have weird tastes in light reading, Harry." Looking over he saw that Lupin was in substantially better state than himself. "I seem to remember you drinking more than me last night. What's your secret Moony?" demanded a playfully irate Sirius.  
  
In response he pantomimed baying at the moon. "Supernatural recuperative powers Padfoot. It takes silver to fell a werewolf, not alcohol." he managed through a smirk. "So what's on the agenda today Sirius? Did you get sufficiently soused last night to scratch you festive itch or are on for another binge tonight?" Sirius' head took that moment to spasm in pain and he could only shake his head to communicate a negative.  
  
"I'm done with that now. I need to get out to see about getting name cleared back home. Once the room stops spinning that is."  
  
"All joking aside though, that's not going to easy. Fudge is dead set against doing his job," advised Harry to his hung over Godfather.  
  
"I know. But if takes another fifteen years I want everyone to know that it was Peter who was the traitor. I'm sick of being Wormtail's scapegoat." Sirius bit his tongue to stop the flow of curses that would follow any thought of the rat.   
  
Something had caught Lupin's eye after he had taunted his old friend. Slapping down the Oracle in between the two he said "Maybe you won't have to deal with Fudge." The headline that streaming across the page in bold letters read: "No-Confidence Vote for British Minister." It seems your exile was the catalyst to his downfall Harry."  
  
***  
  
After slipping the appropriate letters under the appropriate doors, Percy Weasley apparated to Hogsmeade. The morning air was pleasant and shimmering blue-green waters of the lake were quite picturesque. He had never seen Hogwarts in the height of summer and as it lay before him now it seemed less imposing. Even the Forbidden Forest seemed less foreboding. But he could not dally beside a lake when Professor Dumbledore awaited him.  
  
The familiar road from the village took him to the castle proper and Percy indulged himself in the fond nostalgia of his time here. His first few years were the best really, before he made Prefect. To imagine what he could have done had not buried his nose in "Prefects Who Gained Power." What power had he gained? One year in the Ministry with naught to show for it but a dismissal. His only consolation was the No-Confidence Vote that had been the big news in the Prophet that morning. *Well at least I'm not the only one being fired this week then.*  
  
The massive doors to Hogwarts opened before him and allowed light to stream down on the cold stonework of the entry hall. As deserted as the castle was, it took Percy very little time to reach the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's chamber. The fixture rotated up, stringing a twisted staircase behind it. Percy ascended. So there he was, in the inner sanctum of Albus Dumbledore standing before a slouched figure that was dozing at his desk.  
  
"Err...Headmaster?" ventured Percy.  
  
The slumped old man shot up in his chair sending a teacup crashing to the floor. "Mr. Weasley?" he asked as he squinted through bleary, sleep-deprived eyes. The past few days had been hard on him it seemed. The added stress of Harry's exile onto the existing worry over Voldemort's return had left him haggard. "Is it morning already. Goodness then you must tell me all you know."  
  
"Not much to tell really. Rita had most of the details down pat. Falstaff breached the wards around Privet Drive and entered the Dursley residence. After searching the house he could not find Harry as he was in the cupboard under the stairs. Seizing the opportunity to strike back, Harry used his Firebolt to subdue Falstaff. The Minister, desiring to cover up the events and protect his aide, declared a state of emergency and swore all witnesses to secrecy. Judge Fletcher presided and sentenced Harry to exile. I could not mount a defense under such conditions, no one could."  
  
Collecting himself the Headmaster posed a question. "Is their any chance of appeal?"  
  
"Not as such. The rules around exile, as you know, exclude the convicted man from British soil. Every year though, on the anniversary of the sentence, the court is required to reconvene to determine if the exile should remain in effect," explained Percy.  
  
"Then Harry can return next August?"  
  
"Yes, provided we gather enough evidence to overturn the conviction."  
  
"How is he faring? Its been three days, has he contacted you."  
  
"Yes, and you as well."  
  
"Pardon?" Percy simply handed over the one letter he had left to deliver. It was plain with only the Headmaster's name in black ink on the outside. Dumbledore wasted no time in cracking the seal and opening the contents. He mouthed the words as read silently to himself. From time to time he looked up disbelievingly at Percy. For his part Percy could only shrug, he knew nothing of the contents of Dumbledore's letter.  
  
"Here, what do you make of it?" Dumbledore asked as he uncharacteristically tossed the letter over to his visitor. It read:  
  
Dear Professor,  
  
Your speech proved accurate. This, indeed, is a parting of ways. My exile makes it impossible for me to work with you and whatever group you assembled. It is obvious that I must face whatever trials I must undergo alone and without your help. Do not fear; I learned much about myself the moment I chose to defend myself. Falstaff did me favor.  
  
It is an often-repeated muggle proverb that the best defense is an even better offense. To this extent I plan on conditioning myself into both a better wizard and a better warrior. Despite my appearance I have long since surrendered my childhood. It is time for me to accept my responsibilities. Back when Quirrell tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone in my first year, I had an opportunity to speak with Voldemort. Through his lies I spied a grain of truth. He told me something and until recently, I had forgotten it. He said "There is no good and evil, only power and those to weak to seek it." But like most things, Riddle was only half right.  
  
My weakness was my uncertainty. I drifted through my early years, defending myself when necessary. I have cast that aside now. What makes Voldemort strong is that he is the aggressor. He attacks and then fades away. We wait and he takes from us. His Dark Marks blanketed the sky and people did nothing but cower. I have read of your war with Grindelwald. Only when you counter attacked on his soil did the battle end. I will do the same, but only when I am ready.  
  
I will be attending Durmstrang come September. There I will begin to seek the power that Riddle so dearly covets and confront him as an equal opposite. I no longer care that he is Heir to Syltherin, or do I care about any preordained battle between him and me. Something more important than ancient prophecies or a vaunted destiny demands his blood. He killed my family. I will never know who I could have been. That is what I saw in the Mirror of Erised. He took from me a life and left me with only regrets. I will defeat him because I want to; I need to. He is a plague of hate and murder that I can no longer tolerate.  
  
I tell you this because I think you can understand me. It would be so easy to blame you for keeping me ignorant. But I won't because it is beneath us both. I admire and respect you but I must do this on my own. My wealth well keep me alive long enough for me to gain strength. Good luck with protecting everyone.  
  
Until the merging of the parted way,  
  
Harry  
  
"Why he means to challenge You-Know-Who. That's absurd. That's insane. That's..." said Percy   
  
"Completely the way it should be." beamed Dumbledore. The worry seemed to have left his face and his eyes twinkled with unsung joy.  
  
End 16  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Well thats another one. Harry finally decided on a course of action. I hope this sn't to much to soon though. I doubt it, the One on One battle with Voldemort is a recurring motif in a lot of fics I have read. I would highly surpised if it you my wonderful audience did not see this coming.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions.  
  
Incidently it has come up that I need beta readers. If you are interested or if you have any suggestions or questions about my work, feel free to e-mail me about them. The address in my FF.net account is accurate and I check my mail regularly. Bye. 


	17. Chapter 17: Interlude

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 17  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 17: Interlude  
  
  
  
As she was apt to do, Hermione was up early trying to get some school work done. She had completed the first draft of her Potions essay and was currently making a half hearted effort at her Transfiguration paper. The news of Harry's exile had hit her hard. Before Hogwarts she had very few friends. Her scholastic acumen had driven off potential pals and earned her the scorn suffered by every bookworm in the world. She had lived hearing insults like nerd and geek directed at her at every opportunity. The teasing had bestowed upon her a detached indifferent towards people. She excelled in everything but social settings and paid little attention towards others. That was until the tall, rude Ron and small, withdrawn Harry had broken through her barriers. They were all friends but the pair was hopelessly lazy. To think she would not hear them fabricate Divination homework ever again. She sniffed loudly and got up from her desk. Slowly she walked downstairs to get a glass of juice. Halfway to her destination Percy's owl Hermes greeted here.  
  
The bird dropped an envelope a few steps down and swooped out the open kitchen window. *Odd, I wasn't expecting any mail. Wonder who it is from?" Stooping to pick up the letter she immediately saw that it had just her name written on it. Idly she opened it as she strode towards the fridge. Then she stopped and read the contents of the letter carefully.  
  
Dear Hermione  
  
I have been banished. Thought I'd get that out of the way first. It's such an irksome little fact but important nonetheless. I wish to congratulate you making prefect (Going on faith here. I just assume that you have.) The one good thing about that pesky exile is you won't have to dock me house points. Seriously though, I am going to miss you. Hogwarts was more a home to me than that place in Surrey and you and Ron were mostly responsible for that sentiment. I'm making a concerted effort at my studies now and am enrolled in Durmstrang. Beauxbatons wouldn't take me.  
  
On a lighter note I've used some newly acquired clout to assure Sirius' freedom. He'll be staying in France at a place I own while he works on his case to re-enter British society. There is not much say really. I am gone and won't be back for at least a year. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Be lenient with Ron when he inevitably screws up.   
  
Be well.  
  
Harry  
  
Hermione dropped to the floor in a heap with the letter resting in here lap. She read it numerous times as she tried to understand the nameless emotions that it caused her.  
  
***  
  
Ron Weasley fell out of bed. The thump his large body made as it impacted with the hard wooden floor was both painful to hear and see. He grumpily stood up and rubbed the cheek his fall had mushed against the floor that made up his sister's ceiling. It had been her startled shout that had awaken him from his blissful slumber. Stomping his foot he yelled for her silence. This only precipitated a even louder shout from below and cacophony of clanging pips from the ghoul above. Ron didn't even try to go back to bed, he merely trudged down the stairs past the door of his inexplicably loud sister and to the kitchen.  
  
Blearily he ambled around the table to take his customary seat. Idly he ran a hand through his vibrant red hair and tried to cure it of its unkempt state. Eyes half-closed it was five minutes before he rubbed the sleep out his eyes. Finally he settled his face into his hands and waited with eyes closed for his brunch. It was the smell of smoke that first tipped him off. His mother was an excellent cook and rarely burnt a meal. Looking to his right he saw his father sitting motionless at the head of the table reading a piece of paper with singular interest. *Must some Muggle thing* thought Ron. Looking over he saw his Mother frying up what appeared to scorched patties of sausage. She too was reading a piece of paper with undivided attention and with tearing eyes. *Okay. Wonder what this is all about." He was just abut to ask when his tiny sister came barreling down the staircase waving piece of paper. Ginny stopped, looked, and took a deep breath. Smiling at thin air she let out another excited shriek and all but plowed through the door. *Barking mad she is.* With this sought he finally realized that the singing he had been subconsciously hearing was, in fact, not the Wireless but the sound of his twin brothers. With an incredulous expression he turned to look out the kitchen window. Fred and George seemed to prancing and dancing around one another, jumping up and down in elation as they spouted incomprehensible verses. They too were holding letters. His vision of them was obscured as his sister flashed past the window doing cartwheels towards Fred and George.  
  
"Did I miss something?" Without so much as a glance his fathered pushed an envelope across the table. Dubiously Ron opened it to reveal a piece of parchment similar to the ones he had seen flashed around by his family. It was from Harry.  
  
Ron  
  
I've gotten the boot from England. The chance of my return is slim and a year from now at the earliest. I'll miss you mate, but its out of my control. Don't let Malfoy goad you, he's probably composing a taunt for you as you read this. Watch out for yourself and try not to rag on Hermione too much. Without me there is no one to play peacemaker in your rows and your liable to push her away. You'll both need to be each others friends, times well be hard but you both can manage if you stick together. Even as I write this I feel a pain of loneliness for the friendship you offered me.  
  
Cheer up though, Sirius is safe and free to walk about any other country but home. Kind of like me huh? Owl him if your curious how I'm doing. Your owls can't find me, and Hedwig can't find you. It's an exile thing. I hope your seating down because here it comes: I'm going to Durmstrang. I know, I know. I can imagine you seating at the table in the Burrow scowling at me consorting with those dark wizards, trying to become like "Vicky" Krum. Truth is, I need to go to a place that will teach me a way to defend myself. Sure I could do that in America or in one of the lesser schools here in Europe, but I've done some research. Durmstrang has one of the most martial programs of all the wizarding schools. I need that with Tom Riddle out there.  
  
Look out for Neville. He's had a hard time of it, almost as bad as me. The Sytherins will be absolutely reeking with malice this year and he's an easy target. Look out for Ginny and every other Gryffindor. They are all part of my family and I don't want anything to happen to them. Most of all look out for YOU. You're my best friend and, despite our differences, I want you to be okay.  
  
Harry  
  
Ron had known Harry had been exiled. It was in the Prophet yesterday. Harry's letter seemed to make the nebulous idea into reality. *He's gone, he's really gone.* Curious he asked his father, "Dad, what are Fred, George, and Ginny so happy about?"  
  
"What? Oh. Harry invested some money in their company and he asked that Ginny be employed to look after his share." Arthur Weasley stated while reading his own letter.  
  
"What's your message say, Dad?"  
  
"That Harry has paid off all our debts and deposited a half-million galleons into our vault. If we refuse he says his lawyers well make sure it is given to Lucius Malfoy." Arthur said with a hint of anger. "He says it's his way of helping us since he won't be here himself. If it wouldn't go to Malfoy I swear I'd give it up."  
  
Ron smiled for once at his friends generosity. It was done in such a crafty way. "Blighter should have been in Sytherins."  
  
***  
  
End 17/ Interlude 1  
  
Author Notes:  
  
This brief chapter exists because some of you have wondered what was in the rest of Harry's letters. I had planned on flashing to these letters during Harry's long train ride from Frnace but that proved unmanigable. I have no other interlude planned but I may write some to answer any of the questions that might plague you. From here on out, barring any outpouring of questions, the remainder of the story well involve solely the experiences of Harry at Durmstrang until the big *scene*.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Ides of March, Orion, I)ark/-)ngel, keebler-elmo, Angelis, lollipozz, Sophie W., Sarah Rochester, azntgr01, Facade, Klover, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions and you support makes me want to write more. Later 


	18. Chapter 18: 360 Days

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 18  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 18: 360 Days  
  
The pace of the journey was excruciatingly slow. The train seemed the   
  
one magical transportation that was concerned with comfort and not   
  
instantaneous results. The lush French countryside blurred past Harry as   
  
the rhythmic jolting of the train carried him through verdant meadows   
  
and closer to the Black Forest of Germany. Two days had past since he   
  
had waved farewell to his Godfather and mentor in the Paris station.   
  
Sirius needed to stay in France to monitor the news in Britain and to work   
  
on his case. Harry had offered him his suite in Marseilles and the man   
  
had quickly pounced upon the offer, though he regretted his Godson's   
  
departure. Lupin was keeping the ex-fugitive company and proved a great   
  
sounding board for his Dark Arts questions. It truly was a shame that   
  
the lycanthrope had been forced to resign. Hogwarts would have   
  
benefited greatly from his experience.  
  
He was alone but for the statue like body guards Marduk had hired.   
  
The train car was opulent and spacious, allowing much room for whatever   
  
he could possibly want to do. It was his own as was the track he was   
  
riding on. It would take quite some time to categorize every thing he now   
  
owned. Generations of Potters had left him with quite a sizable   
  
financial empire. Every thing he needed was here: bed, shower, and   
  
workspace. The capable looking soldiers stationed at the entrances both   
  
entrances to the private car belied his new found stature. They said little and   
  
fingered there wands and weaponry reflexively but were ready to do   
  
whatever Harry commanded. He had never had such power over another.  
  
The leader of the guard was a man named Scarsdale. Out of all the   
  
guards he was the only one who offered his name. He was short, even   
  
smaller than Harry but had presence of complete control. Two wands were   
  
sheathed at his belt, both about eighteen inches in length. He spoke   
  
rarely which was far more frequent than the rest. The other three were   
  
hooded in dull grey cloaks and seemed to fade into the background. It was   
  
an altogether strange arrangement that Harry was forced to keep to   
  
himself whilst surrounded by people.  
  
As the edge of the ancient arboreal forest approached, Harry pushed   
  
Goshawk's book aside, more than content with the new charms he had   
  
studied. The books he had purchased back in Marseilles took up most of the   
  
desk space. *Hmm, back to Creatures and Constructs, or should I try   
  
something new? Origin of the Draconic Species? No, I'll save that for   
  
the ride through Romania.* He searched the pile that he picked   
  
arbitrarily in France and eventually stopped looking and went back to the book   
  
Lupin had quizzed him on. He was well into the topic of Binding Circles   
  
when the trouble started.  
  
The train came to a screeching to a halt. Shouts from the engine car   
  
were the only warning before a gigantic jolt buckled some unknown   
  
stress. Scarsdale motioned towards the pair in the back and they quickly   
  
exited Harry's private car via the windows. The remaining figured popped   
  
out of existence and Scarsdale closed the distance between Harry and   
  
himself. Both his wands were out and he had a guarded look upon his   
  
face. For his part Harry checked to see that his wand was harnessed and   
  
slipped on his dragon hide robe. He had no broom this time but he was   
  
ready in other ways.  
  
He saw streaks of red and green light streaked past the windows as the   
  
assailants and Harry's guards engaged one another before Scarsdale   
  
pushed him under the desk. Futile curses were drowned out by the roar of   
  
anxiety from the passenger cars behind. From his sheltered place under   
  
his desk Harry could only assume that his guards were holding their own.   
  
New voices broke the stalemate as a few passengers piled out of their   
  
berths with charms on their lips. For his part, Scarsdale stood   
  
twitching he's head from side to side as he took in the fray warring around   
  
Harry's private car. All seemed well until the entire train shook under   
  
some unknown impact.  
  
Actually to Harry it seemed much more than an impact. Cataclysm seems   
  
more appropriate. The car tilted at thirty degree angle and landed   
  
thunderously on the track as a chunk of the track ripped a section of the   
  
roof from the train. The noise was of metal twisting in a painful   
  
fashion and the force shattered the windows. As one, all those outside   
  
yelled in unison, "Giants."  
  
Scarsdale pulled himself from where the fall had dumped him and   
  
ordered loudly at his men in German. Forcefully he pulled Harry up and   
  
tugged him towards one of the shattered windows. The dim light outside   
  
seemed to darken as a tide of black figures flooded from the depths of the   
  
forest. The familiar cold sensation pricked Harry as he heard the   
  
faint echoes of his parents' murder the aura of Dementors inflicted upon   
  
him. Panicked shouts of "Dementors!" replaced the previous cry.   
  
  
  
Quickly, before he allowed himself to be dragged to the opposite   
  
window by his anxious bodyguard and before the sensation became intolerable,   
  
he summoned his Patronous. Silver light erupted from his wand and the   
  
shimmering from of a stag charged through the empty window frame. Just   
  
as before when he set loose his guardian to save his godfather, the   
  
beast galloped across the intervening space and drove of the foul   
  
creatures. Then he dashed to Hedwig's cage and set the snowy owl free. Only   
  
then did he allow the German man to drag him out of the car in retreat.  
  
  
  
The drop from the window was bearable yet jarring to his unconditioned   
  
form. Rolling to his feet he dashed into the woods with his head low   
  
as another lance of tempered steel whistled through the air, impaling   
  
his car. Green killing curses impacted randomly on tree trunks and limbs   
  
as Harry whirled through the thickly wooded path. Scarsdale was not   
  
behind him, either the man had been felled by a curse or he hadn't made   
  
it out of the car.   
  
A break in the forest appeared just up ahead and Harry ran for it.   
  
Barreling through the thick bush he looked up to find he had wandered   
  
into a ring of Death Eaters. His guards lay in heap on the cold earth in   
  
a vaguely triangular formation. A dozen wands were pointed at him and   
  
Harry, exhausted from his run, could do nothing to defend himself.   
  
Nevertheless, he held out his right arm and prepared to duel.  
  
  
  
That proved unnecessary as one Death Eater stood out from his fellows   
  
and took of his mask. The others dropped there wand to a neutral   
  
position though one of the masked wizards seemed reluctant. Pale features   
  
and blonde hair became apparent as soon as the ghastly skull-mask had   
  
been removed. He turned to look at the one Death Eater still brandishing   
  
his wand and sneered. The hostile Death Eater dropped his wand to his   
  
side and the unmasked Death Eater turned to Harry. It was Lucius   
  
Malfoy.  
  
  
  
He spoke casually, as his men had not murdered his guards. He spoke   
  
as if he and Harry had encountered one another on the street. It was   
  
absurd actually, given the circumstances.   
  
"Hello Potter, I reckon your day has gotten worse. How dreadful a   
  
week you have had. First exiled and now assaulted." He made a languid   
  
tsking sound under his breath and continued his conceited greeting. "No   
  
doubt you think that we are going to kill you. That is not the case.   
  
I bear a message and an object lesson from my Lord." He gestured at   
  
the prone forms of his dead guards. Three men whom he had never spoken   
  
to but who had tried to protect him. "That is the lesson. Protect   
  
yourself but do not hide behind your ill-gotten wealth."  
  
  
  
As coldly as he could manage under the dread and anger he felt, Harry   
  
hazarded to ask, "And what message does Voldemort offer me?"  
  
"Merely that you know your place. We can find you at any time, in any   
  
place. Any safety you once had has evaporated. You live on the whim   
  
of my master and only because he has specific plans for your demise. It   
  
is a foregone conclusion that you're exile will be revoked next   
  
August." Lucius smirked. "Your days are numbered until that time. The Dark   
  
Lord grants you the three hundred and sixty days to live until he   
  
reclaims his gift." With that he turned with a flourish and motioned for   
  
his enforcers to leave. The popping sound of the wizards was obscured by   
  
the lumbering steps of the receding giants.  
  
Lucius remained. "I just saved you life Potter. I'm not actually   
  
supposed to be here but I heard Falstaff was pressing for an "accident" to   
  
happen during the raid. His nose will never be the same after your   
  
little stunt, twisted beyond the abilities of any Medi-wizard."  
  
"What is your point Malfoy? You deliver a message of death and expect   
  
gratitude?" Harry asked incredulous.  
  
"Not gratitude, a favor. No, it's not to forget my appearance here.   
  
A hundred people will testify that I am currently at the opera."  
  
"Polyjuice." Harry said with a grimace. Lucius nodded. "What do you   
  
want then?"  
  
"Merely that you make sure your godfather makes a fuss about Wormtail   
  
being alive. Do not ask, my reasons are my own."  
  
"Why should I?"  
  
"It is in Black's best interest that Peter Pettigrew because a   
  
household name once more and his redemption helps your futile defense against   
  
the Dark Lord." Harry simply nodded.  
  
"Adieu," Lucius said before he too popped out of existence. Harry   
  
stood alone in the clearing until an anxious Scarsdale stumbled across his   
  
position.  
  
End 18  
  
Author notes:  
  
Another chapter and and some actual progress.   
  
  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Ides of March, Orion, I)ark/-)ngel, keebler-elmo, Angelis, lollipozz, Sophie W., Sarah Rochester, azntgr01, Facade, Klover, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions and you support makes me want to write more. A special thanks to Artemis for being the beta of this chapter. Later 


	19. Chapter 19: Wanderer No More

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 19  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 19: Wanderer No More  
  
Looking at the wreck Harry could only shake his head. The force of   
  
the hurled sections of track had derailed many train cars and made any   
  
travel impossible. Even if the train could resume its journey, there was   
  
the matter of the hundred feet of track that was currently impaling   
  
Harry's private, if ruined, train car. Mercifully the only deaths were   
  
Scarsdale's men. Harry's Patronus had driven off the Dementors, and the   
  
giants were nowhere to be seen. Many innocents were injured and   
  
emergency response teams were Apparating in every direction, pops indicating   
  
their appearance resounding through the area. This leg of the journey   
  
to Durmstrang was a loss. Fifty meters to his right Scarsdale was   
  
arguing with an investigator who seemed to want to speak with Harry. It   
  
was not that Harry didn't want to speak to man; it was merely that the   
  
bodyguard wanted to exert some control over the situation. By protecting   
  
his client's privacy Scarsdale could save himself some disgrace. They   
  
had been sniping at one another for ten minutes and neither showed any   
  
sign of stopping.  
  
  
  
Harry understood little of what was being said. The hundreds of   
  
voices of the stranded passengers floated around the clearing and confounded   
  
the Babel Clasp on his ear. Far too many different languages were   
  
being used and he had been forced to pocket it. In the blissful silence   
  
that only a stranger in foreign country can feel, Harry marshaled his   
  
thoughts. *Three hundred and sixty days to live. Funny... it was longer   
  
than I expected from Riddle.* He leaned against the wreckage for quite   
  
some time and studiously avoided looking at the three corpses that lay   
  
covered a scant twenty meters in front of him. He had guilt in   
  
abundant supply and didn't require visual reminders that the attack was   
  
because of him. Despondency threatened to overtake him but his   
  
self-deprecation was interrupted by a group of visitors.  
  
The noisy din altered from a confused hum to an ugly roar. About a   
  
dozen of the older passengers had broken away from where the emergency   
  
workers were holding them. Most stared at him with soul-flaying disgust.   
  
One man spoke up. His voice was loud and accusatory in a heavy German   
  
voice that was incomprehensible. Quickly Harry slipped his Babel Clasp   
  
back on his ear and caught the tail end of the loud declaration.  
  
"...rich fools like you! It is because of you that those men came   
  
here. It was because of you that we were injured. I demand you take   
  
accountability for this." The grey haired man finished his speech in a   
  
roaring tone that attracted Scarsdale from his argument. Harry could see   
  
the burst of profanity escape his sole remaining bodyguard but could   
  
not hear it over the vehement claims of the assembled mob. Harry waited   
  
before he voiced his response. He needed to be very careful with words   
  
lest he incite a riot. There had been far too much violence already   
  
for Harry's taste. In his peripheral vision, Harry saw Scarsdale plowing   
  
his way through the crowd.  
  
As usual his clasp twisted his mouth intricately in order to for his   
  
words to become German. "Please be calm. I understand your anger and   
  
certainly didn't expect..." He was cut off though.  
  
"Expect this, brat!" the leader of the malcontent passengers cried as   
  
he lashed forwards with a quick right punch. At that moment Scarsdale   
  
lunged from behind in attempt to grab the offending fist. He was too   
  
late though, failing to stop the blow before it reached its intended   
  
target. Harry rocked back on his heels with the force of the blow,   
  
rolling with a punch was skill he had attained quickly in the Dursley's   
  
household. This defensive action dissipated most of the force behind the   
  
punch but did little to stop Harry's lip from splitting under the   
  
pressure of the man's fist. Immediately the copper taste of his own blood   
  
washed over his taste buds and a moment latter burning pain of newly rent   
  
flesh. He quickly shook it off though, since Scarsdale seemed to be in   
  
the process of drastic action.   
  
The unnamed German man was now on his knees with his wrist twisted   
  
behind his head. For his part, Scarsdale stood at the man's side with one   
  
hand performing the painful wrist lock and the other holding his large   
  
wand which glowed an ominous, angry red. His bodyguard looked a Harry   
  
questioningly as if the ask "Now what?" Harry simply made a   
  
forestalling gesture as he brushed the accumulating blood from his cut lip with   
  
his thumb. Content that he had shaken off the worst of the blow, he   
  
walked forward and stooped to meet the man's eyes. Pain and disbelief   
  
were readily apparent along with a touch of fear. Harry didn't strike him   
  
back though.  
  
Without raising his voice, in the silence that had befallen the   
  
clearing after the punch, Harry's words were heard. "Giants drove the train   
  
off the tracks, Dementors filled your hearts with fear, and dark   
  
wizards, Death Eaters, killed my guards. I cast no charm, brought no   
  
creature, nor bore any malice. I am a victim here also and I will not take   
  
responsibility for the actions of others anymore." He stood and waved   
  
off Scarsdale who released the man from his painful grasp. "Good Day."   
  
he spoke once more and strode out of sight behind the wreckage of his   
  
train car with his bodyguard in pursuit. Emergency workers quickly   
  
dispersed the crowd and continued the clean-up.  
  
***  
  
They stood amongst the cruelly twisted ruins of Harry's once opulent   
  
property. The windows were all smashed and the pages of his books were   
  
scattered about the floor. A fire had somehow started after his   
  
mid-melee escape and the smell of smoke lingered in the confined space. With   
  
a little disgust Harry snorted as he kicked aside some of the debris.   
  
"A total loss, how discouraging." He sighed and turned his gaze at   
  
Scarsdale. "What did that investigator want? You were speaking to him   
  
for a while."  
  
"It was what I wanted." Responded Scarsdale in his inflectionless   
  
voice. The taciturn guard seemed reluctant to say more. Eventually he   
  
continued when he take no more of Harry's quirked eyebrow and expectant   
  
expression. "I wanted an emergency portkey to the destination. He   
  
wouldn't authorize it. I explained your situation at great length but it   
  
was not until you were in the process of being mobbed that he relented.   
  
Your trip to Bulgaria will end shortly."  
  
"That is good news. A train ride after this mess would be too   
  
stressful. Will you be joining me?"  
  
"A registered portkey is an acceptable fulfillment of my contract.   
  
Delivery is guaranteed. Further accompaniment by me is impossible   
  
because the device will be keyed to you alone. I have obligations here."   
  
Scarsdale replied flatly. Harry winced at his insensitivity.  
  
"Your men, right. I'm sorry."  
  
"They knew and embraced the risk." Scarsdale replied in a slightly   
  
warmer tone.  
  
"Regardless, I'll compensate any family they had."  
  
"That is unnecessary."  
  
"I know, but I insist."  
  
"Fine." His final remark was cut off as a woman loudly Apparated into   
  
the wrecked cabin of the train car. He let out a startled yelp as he   
  
materialized a scant inch from one of the impaled pieces of track.  
  
"Damn, almost splinched myself getting here in order to fall on a   
  
spike," the new arrival said. Gingerly she prodded the protrusion that   
  
almost killed her with one hand as tucked an errant lock of blonde hair   
  
behind her ear with the other. Scarsdale cleared his throat. She was   
  
startled one again and turned towards the tired figures of Harry and his   
  
bodyguard. She removed a piece of paper from her pouch and read aloud   
  
in a bored tone. "Portkey for one Harold James Potter?" Harry nodded   
  
in response. "Perfect, initial here." she said and pointed at a box on   
  
the document with a quill that appeared out of thin air. With that   
  
done she stuffed the paper pack in her pouch and tossed a small,   
  
rectangular object at him. Instinctively he caught it.  
  
"Bon Voyage," Chirped the delivery girl as Harry felt the hook behind   
  
his navel and plunged into darkness.  
  
***  
  
Harry found himself alone before a squat stone building. The wind was   
  
cold and from his vantage he could tell he was on a mountain, a very   
  
large mountain. If this was Durmstrang then it was not at all like   
  
Hogwarts. Gone were the gently rolling hills of Scotland and its ancient   
  
arboreal forests. Here there were only sparse, starved looking trees   
  
like one would find in a graveyard. Craggy cliffs assailed him from all   
  
but the south where he could see the smoke rise from a small, rustic   
  
village. Where he stood he saw mostly the white of the frost line and the   
  
dull grey and black of rock. The village in the distance though was   
  
veiled by dark green woods that mirrored the Forbidden Forest.  
  
Looking away from the south Harry examined his new school. Krum's   
  
description was apt. Lightless and a mere four stories high it seemed   
  
like more Hagrid's Cabin then a castle. It was windowless and without   
  
surrounding walls. Ledges were carved into the edifice of the school and   
  
perched on every available surface were statues. Statues of gargoyles   
  
with lupine features like the ones that had appeared on the bank   
  
medallion Marduk had given him. *Curious.* The features of the gargoyles   
  
were not feral, but instead vigilant and their gaze seemed to trace every   
  
aspect of Harry's figure. It seemed that they were looking, gauging,   
  
and judging him. His dismissed this thought and trudged uneasily over   
  
the snowy path that led up to a small door, incidentally the only part   
  
of the building without one of those wolf/gargoyle hybrids.  
  
The door was before him at its center was situated a plain iron   
  
knocker. It was chilly at this elevation and Harry did what came naturally:   
  
he knocked. The door swung open and an older man was standing on the   
  
other side in the process of clothing himself in a heavy fur parka.  
  
"Hello," Harry told the man in the most respectful tone he could   
  
manage.  
  
"Mr. Potter?" The man said questioningly. Harry nodded and the man   
  
allowed himself a small smile. In a formal but comforting tone he   
  
began. "You are early, excellent. I am Vassily Oblanskov and am the new   
  
Headmaster here. I greet you and bid you welcome to the Durmstrang   
  
Institute."   
  
End 19  
  
Author Notes:  
  
I am immensely sorry for how late this chapter is. I combination of   
  
rationed computer time, sudden social obligations, and a bout of   
  
headaches prevented me from writing as quickly as I would have liked. The   
  
hard part is over though, I got Harry to Durmstrang in a plausible manner   
  
and now I can begin in earnest. Xirleb70 is my beta now, and is   
  
helping get these chapters out quickly.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Ides of March, Orion, I)ark/-)ngel, keebler-elmo, Angelis, lollipozz, Sophie W., Sarah Rochester, azntgr01, Facade, Klover, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions and you support makes me want to write more. A special thanks to Artemis for being the beta of this chapter. Later 


	20. Chapter 20: What Lies Inside

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 20  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 20: What Lies Inside  
  
He gazed at his minion through the slits of his serpentine eyes. *Lucius is nervous, how refreshing.* Voldemort thought as he sat veiled by the dim shadows of the lightless room as he looked down upon the prostrate form of his most influential Death Eater.  
  
"The message was given to the child?" Voldemort rasped through tight lips.  
  
"As you commanded, my Lord," responded a humbled Malfoy in his meekest tone.  
  
"He knows unequivocally that he lives at my leisure?"  
  
"Yes, My Lord."  
  
"And you shared no private discourse with the boy?"  
  
"As I stated before, I left with the others, my Lord," Lucius replied with his forehead pressed to the cold, dank tile of Voldemort's throne. He didn't look up at his master but from the sounds emanating from the raised platform it was feasible that the master was stroking Nagini again.*He's thinking. Pondering... He knows!* Lucius thought frantically. The hazards of serving Riddle was that there was no certainty in his favor.  
  
Slytherin's heir rose quickly from his ornate throne and closed the distance between himself and his servant. "Hmm...Crucio!" He declared suddenly. The curse lashed out and delivered bouts of intense agony to the head of the Malfoy line. His body convulsed on the on unforgiving stone floor as his mind raced with the unearthly torture of the Cruciatious Curse. Voldemort held the curse in place for quite sometime until eventually he grew weary of the strangled moans of the twitching man. He knelt beside the man and, in a mocking semblance of compassion, smoothed the perspiration damp platinum locks of the prone man.  
  
"Shh... Lucius, my old friend. It is alright now." He said as if he hadn't been grinning seconds before. "I ask for total truth. Always. Your creature Falstaff was quite upset; he said you were late in reaching the first rally point. Now, for you own sake, I ask again: Did you converse privately with the Potter child?" With the question his soothing movements ended and he roughly dug his fingers into the Lucius' temple. The man could only cry out as a single rivulet of blood traced the contours of his cheek.  
  
In that breath he gasped out "Yes!" The pressure of his Lord's claw on his cranium ceased and Voldemort stood once more and ascended the dais to his cruelly wrought iron throne. He sat and slouched in the symbolic seat of power and brought his hand to his lips. The subtlety forked tongue slipped out and licked Malfoy's blood from the stained claw. The effect was altogether unnerving as Voldemort stared down at him with those baleful red eyes. They glowed crimson in the dark and seemed to invade Malfoy's very soul. Voldemort simply looked and waited for Lucius to regain his lost composure.  
  
Rising to a bow, Lucius shivered as he began his supplication. "I beg your forgiveness master; I remained with the child to taunt him further, to claim a debt he owed me." Lucius said weakly.  
  
  
  
"A debt? Interesting. Proceed." The Dark Lord commanded in an imperious tone.  
  
"My interference in the attack was the only thing that kept the child alive. Some of the more...zealous...of my brethren felt Potter should befall a terrible "accident" during the course of the assault. My presence prevented that because I reminded everyone that his blood was sacrosanct until you see fit to spill it. I told Potter as much in an attempt to wrest concessions from him. He was unresponsive." The desperate Malfoy blurted.  
  
For a moment Voldemort sat immobile and then his face split in gruesome grin. "Very well Lucius, my old friend, you have served me well in this. You may leave." Voldemort said as he sank into a contemplative trance. Lucius did not need to be told twice.  
  
***  
  
The corridors were very narrow, allowing no more than one person to pass at even the widest of places. The door in which Harry had entered was located at the very corner of the building. So far Oblanskov had led him in spiraling line, circling ever gradually towards the center of the building. Thus far they had been walking for ten minutes.  
  
"Durmstrang offers unequaled instruction in the ancient arts of magic," Oblanskov boasted.  
  
*Oblanskov, that name is familiar* "How do you mean, Headmaster?"  
  
The old man laughed heartily and began to list some the schools more obscure areas of expertise. "No other institution in the world offers such detailed and expert lectures on binding circles and other magical artifice. Our Potion's lab is unparalleled and most of our wizards need very little secondary training when they finish their program."  
  
"Program, what is the significance of that?" *Geez, were have I seen this man before.*  
  
"Your study focus is the area of magic you will devout yourself to while attending Durmstrang. The curriculum is not standardized like in the western schools, but more diverse so as to allow each student to excel in the area appropriate for his or her own needs and desires."  
  
"So, I choose a single topic like Charms?" *Was he in Diagon Alley one time?*  
  
"No! No, it is nothing as simplistic as that. Charms and History are required course material so as to produce a capable and knowledgeable sorcerer. The rest is completely up to you. Within certain reason, anyway."  
  
"But I heard rumors that students here learned..." started Harry.  
  
"The Dark Arts. It is more than rumor Master Potter but a reality. Ancient accords demand we provide whatever subject matter a student requests. Whether that is the proper way to heal a wound, or maybe how to use the less savory aspects of magic... The depth of our instruction coincides with what the student can safely handle. There are valid reasons for a student to learn foul magicks." He stopped when the spiraling hallway ended putting them in front of another nondescript door of old oak. He rapped on it with his cane and the door swung open.  
  
Inside was a large, nay, huge, chamber. Cavernous was the only true way to describe it. The shrieking chorus of bats could be heard in echoing across the high ceilings. From where he stood on rough hewn stone, Harry could see very little. The circumference of the room was dotted with torches and a faint flame could be seen in the distance. The stone floor ended about a meter into the room and from the scant light the streamed from the wall fixture, a dull iron plate with bolts and rivets spread out into the unfathomable darkness.  
  
Harry looked toward his new headmaster with a baffled expression. "Not what I had imagined." That warranted a chuckle from his guide.  
  
"Come now Mr. Potter, you don't really think this is it do you? Not by a long shot." His words reverberated through the stillness of the dark. "The external structure is merely a facade from days long past. A gateway, if you will."  
  
"Wait an external structure. Then..." Harry pondered aloud.  
  
"Indeed. The substance of Durmstrang, like most important thing in life, lies buried beneath the surface." With that he rapped noisily on the metallic construct. The rhythmic thumping resounded like the ringing of gong and a metallic groan shook the darkness. The walls trembled and a groan of mechanical stress answered the gong of Oblanskov's cane. Then, ever so slowly, the plating split visible. A thin line widened and light filtered through from behind the massive door of Durmstrang.  
  
It was a solid minute until the unseen gears finished revealing the entrance. Harry broke his silence with a simple, yet expressive, "Cool."  
  
"Yet ridiculously ostensive. The wizards of past ages seemed to enjoy such displays. Not that we are much better. Last year's Quidditch world cup was such a fiasco I am of a mind never to go again."  
  
"I kind of enjoyed...That's It!"  
  
Oblanskov blinked owlishly and coughed. "That is what Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Where I remember you from! It was the top box at the World Cup. You were the Bulgarian Minister of Magic and Fudge couldn't name you properly. You seemed awfully excited about my scar then also if I remember correctly." The man looked a bit sheepish.  
  
"You came out of nowhere. I expected the usual officials and society members and not the boy who survived the Killing Curse. And as to my office, I retired when the post here was vacated my Karkaroff. Poor man just dropped out of sight. But that is the past now, I am interested in what you will do here with unfettered teaching. Durmstrang may be scorned by polite society and its history may be bloody, but it instills a sense of greatness in all who walk its halls. No, Mr. Potter, what is 'cool' is not the opening of this door, but the opportunity before you." The Bulgarian tapped Harry on the shoulder with his cane and pointed towards the dim corridor exposed by the opened door. "Come, we are letting the heat out."  
  
End 20: Beta Reader- Xirleb70  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
I really meant to have this out sooner but was never really satisfied with what I had written. I've taken liberties with the "Oblans...something" character from the Goblet of Fire just as I have with Durmstrang. A five story castle just didn't do anything for me when compared to the sprawling heights of Hogwarts. Specifics of Durmstrang will unfold in further chapters.  
  
To my reviewers I must bow and offer my most profuse thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Ides of March, Orion, I)ark/-)ngel, keebler-elmo, Angelis, lollipozz, Sophie W., Sarah Rochester, azntgr01, Facade, Klover, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions and you support makes me want to write more. A special thanks to Xirleb70 for being the beta of this chapter. Later 


	21. Chapter 21: Delving Deep

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 21  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS,  
CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The  
Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K  
Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They  
are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury  
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I  
gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any  
copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters  
unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the  
most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 21: Delving Deep  
  
Ten stairs down the length of the entrance and Harry was enveloped in darkness. Harry resisted the urge to bolt when the immense gateway to Durmstrang crashed shut behind him. He reasoned that a simple "Alohamora" would be insufficient to even rattle the twin slabs of metal. *No* he reasoned, *There's no going back now.* Oblanskov was silent as if waiting for him to ask a question, if in fact the Bulgarian was still there. Swallowing his pride and the rising gorge of panic in his throat Harry tentatively joked, "Who turned out the lights?" A wry laugh from a few stairs down was his response.  
  
"Wait, you'll adjust to it in moment." Confused Harry waited more out of perplexity than out obedience to his new Headmaster's advice. For a minute Harry's only companion was the palpitations of his heart and visceral hunger in his stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast on the train which now seemed a lifetime ago. Then "It" struck him. Without warning or preamble he could see in the dark...sort of. Darkness was replaced with a shimmering blue almost as dark as the shadows. It was as if someone had had painted the cavern corridor with a subtly luminescent paint. Not bright, but no longer dark. Furthermore the dim color seemed to drift in silken threads out from the recesses of the tunnel and embrace Oblanskov, as if welcoming him back. As Oblanskov stepped off the staircase the sullen darkness of the tunnel erupted into activity. More strands seemed to pour out from the darkness of tunnel and for a moment seemed to bury the elder man in blue gossamer shadow. With a startled "Oh" Harry dashed down to the final stair and reached as if too rescue the professor whom he had just met.  
  
Without turning the man began to lecture once more. "This vision is available to only those welcome at Durmstrang." The tendrils of blue-black ceased their frenzied undulating and settled into a gentle drifting, like that of an undersea kelp bed. "An interloper would undoubtedly find himself lost for all light is immediately extinguish, forcefully if necessary. The porous walls are enchanted so that they absorb light, heat, scents, and sound. The inconstancy of the bedrock distorts echoes and vibrations. Everyone is lost here unless they are a friend." Oblanskov did not cease his rapid step, merely walked unabashed through the gossamer strands of ethereal light that permeated and undulated from the walls of the Durmstrang Labyrinth. Harry could do little but hasten his stride and follow as the Hungarian man continued his lecture. At first the young Wizard, too, was engulfed as the strands burst from the walls and grew taught about him as he left the last step of the grand staircase. The sensation he felt was of only a light pressure that ceased almost immediately as it had begun. The tendrils retreated and kept an almost uniform distance from him, touching him only briefly every few steps as if the reassure Harry of its presence. It was an altogether unnerving experience.  
  
"If the walls absorb sound, how can I hear you?" Challenged Harry with a tentative bravado that he did not, in truth, possess. The complete lack of stimuli beyond that which the shadows and the quiet footsteps of his new headmaster had unsettled him. It was easier to loss himself in inquisitiveness than to dwell in brooding solitude. A quick guffaw was Oblanskov's response.  
  
"Our guide, the apparition that envelops us, is named Shadow-silk. It lives, thrives, and guards the every shifting maze in the center of which Durmstrang lies." Oblanskov stated in loud, but unassuming voice. He didn't seem the type to boast, well not about this at least. The dark indigo shadows seemed to pulse lazily, as if the darkness knew it was the subject of its charges discourse "It conducts the sound of our voices so as to make conversation possible. It is also, in part, responsible for the 'light' by which you see. I say in part because it is yourself which the energy comes from. The Shadow-silk draws a minute quantity of your discharged magical aura, alters it subtly, and returns it marking you as one of its protected charges."  
  
"Interesting." Was all Harry could offer in response.  
  
"Indeed, few come this way anymore because of the odd sensation. Also the ancient gateway is too grandiose for daily traffic. Portals, and to a lesser extent portkeys are used yet rigidly regulated." He recited as he lead Harry through a dizzying array of twists and turns. Almost like a briar the blue shadows seemed to close around them. Unfazed by the ethereal nature of the journey, Oblanskov continued with his speech. "Barring some private institutions, you are currently at the doorstep of the most secure magical stronghold in the human world. The Shadow-silk, you see, is the most ancient and the truest defense Durmstrang has to offer. There are wards, as you would expect, but the Shadow's of Durmstrang.....they have away of protecting their own" Oblanskov offered enigmatically.  
  
"What do you mean, sir?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.  
  
Oblanskov looked back and offered an almost feral grin full not of malice but conviction. "They Shadow-silk is not so gentle to intruders. It can probe deeper and drain more than a superficial amount of magic. The protective darkness, Mister Potter, has teeth to defend us." With that foreboding statement conversation seemed impossible. Silence settled over the traveling pair and the Shadow-silk continued its ambiguous, lazy journey through Durmstrang's Labyrinth.  
  
They had been walking for some few minutes when the tunnel began to slope visibly upward. Ahead the Shadow-silk seemed to pool at the dead end to which it had brought them. Oblanskov exhaled noisily in a breath of mixed anxiousness and relief. He quickened his pace and brought up his cane and waved in a semi-threatening manner. Harry just stopped and gawked at the man, who moments before, had lectured to him that shadows were some kind of ultimate defense mechanism. The man erupted in a burst of Bulgarian that Harry's Babel Clasp would not translate. Abruptly Harry realized it was profanity. Evidently he had had not set his language filter since after facing the mob in the German forest. After four minutes of such swearing, the shadows seemed to reluctantly melt away from what it had been obstructing. Situated a meter and a half up the wall was a large, indecipherable glyph. The engraving had long been eroded by the passage of time.  
  
Oblanskov turned back and said in an exasperated tone, "The other fact you need to understand about Shadow-silk is that it can be like a stubborn puppy." With that Oblanskov trailed of muttering about "sulking shadows" and with a sudden, childish "Hah" thrust the point of his cane out to the center of the glyph. The piercing sound of raw rock rubbing against raw rock signaled the opening of a wall. Oblanskov withdrew his cane, cradled it underneath his arm. "By all means young master. After you." With a gesture he pointed into the dark and damp smelling entrance to Durmstrang proper.  
  
*****  
  
Cornelius Fudge had discovered a new curse word. Indeed though it had more than four letters and was actually two worlds did not distract from the vileness of its connotation. All things malicious, whether the fires of hell or a contagious, fatal rash could be summed up in two words: Harry Potter. If he had been a hateful man he could honestly say he hated the child. But he wasn't so he didn't. What irked him though, what positively riled his nerves, was the fact that the boy had caused less trouble blowing- up his aunt and running half-cocked around Hogwarts for four years than the single week he had spent abroad. As he swirled last mouthful of the brandy in his snifter. *The noise outside is really getting intolerable. I really should make a statement.....* mused the disgraced Minster of Magical Britain. Fudge dismissed that idea and opted, instead, to refill his class and ignore the hordes of reporters camped outside his country estate. The wireless spewed the facts of his fall from power in the background as the soon-to-be Ex-Minster drank and drank and drank.  
  
".......ter. Yes, ever since the news of the Boy-Who-Lived's exile splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet, a veritable firestorm of public opinion has forced the Minister's credibility into question. Though the No- Confidence Vote taken earlier the week still remains privileged, the Minister has not left his country estate since. The discontent emanating from circles in the Ministry, however, hints that Minister Fudge may yet be disposed. Successors have yet to be named. I'm Conrad Jenkins reporting for the WWN on this the fourth day of the Wiltshire Siege.  
  
End 21....Finally.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Trust me, the Shadow-silk is going to be important. I'd like to take this opportunity to duck the rotten fruit and random debris I know you'd all love to throw my way. Yes, I am alive and No Wisdom From the Dark is not a dead fic. I was simply too busy the past two semester and far from motivated to continue. But that's over know. My last Exam is a week from today and then I'm relatively free to write. I'd like to express my gratitude to those of you who have stuck by and waited patiently, and in many cases not so patiently, for an update. Note I'm considering a rewrite, of the first four chapters especially. Suggestions are welcome if not always heeded in the final draft.  
  
To my dear, dear reviewers of the past, I hope your still around to knock me back into shape.  
  
Thanks. That means you all: Nighttime Sunshine, peeweepotter Relle, AJaKe, cricket, sil, Zaln, Lady FoxFire, Them Girl, fan, Otaku Freak, Saiyan Seker88, bostonian, ADJ, Webster, Star Mage, Lilybee2003, ZeonReborn, gallandro-83, Paul, pablo5280, Imaginaryfriend, Destruxion, kapies, rosie. Bill Weasly, Myrddin Ambrosius Jr.book worm, litine, clingon87,Siri Kat, pan, potter-man, DaBear, Potatoes, PheonixMan,GREENDAY 9829, Elessar, Jason Gregory, Ides of March, Orion, I)ark/-)ngel, keebler-elmo, Angelis, lollipozz, Sophie W., Sarah Rochester, azntgr01, Facade, Klover, Renee Fay and Rachel A. Prongs. You feedback is greatly appreciated and if I have missed anyone you have my apologies. I consider all of you suggestions and you support makes me want to write more. 


	22. Chapter 22: Turmoil, Thy Name is Harry

Title: Wisdom From The Dark 20  
  
Author: Jyrnn  
  
Spoilers: All four books. Wait, can't say that now can I? Okay, PS, CS, PoA, and GoF. I'll probably pilfer whatever bits I can from The Order of The Phoenix. Incidently some of it can fit. Thank you J. K Rowling. Well except the part about Sirius.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters. They are the sole intellectual property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I gain no monetary reward for this exercise and do not intend any copyright infringement.  
  
Summery: A child has suffered enough, an intruder encounters unexpected resistance, and the careless words of Voldemort have the most unexpected results. Harry Potter is about to take a stand.  
  
*...* Direct thoughts  
  
Chapter 22: Turmoil, Thy Name is Harry  
  
His hands were clenched tight into fists and his lower jaw ground audibly against the top of his mouth. Beyond the swish of his robs as he paced, no sound filled his solitary cell. Not that he was in prison, no in fact he free to go anywhere: provided he wasn't seen. For not the first time since that fateful night when he decided to attempt to take the life of that wretched half-blood, Gavin Falstaff questioned his own actions. The Medi-wizards had managed to mend the fractures in his spine but could do little to erase the mare upon his countenance. The friction the boy had caused by literally riding Falstaff's face at speeds exceeding thirty miles per hour down the banister had been excruciatingly painful. A large rend had split wide open the cheek of what was once a handsome face. Splinters of wood from that muggle's foolish newel had penetrated the feeble protection of the Deatheater's mask and opened a gash that, so the Medi- wizard claimed, would never naturally heal. He was blemished, impugned, and ruined by the boy-child. His career was over, that much was certain. Gavin's contempt, though, could not dispel his chronic nightmares of the disembodied head shrieking out of the darkness.  
  
A knock disturbed his thoughts as one of the ubiquitous peons that served the Dark Lord poked his head hesitantly into Falstaff's antechamber. The unimportant man was afraid. That was as it should be for Falstaff had been prone to visiting fits of violence upon intruders to his rooms. His moods were the terror of his household as of late. All but the most trusted of servants had been dispatched and those that remain were bound to Falstaff's will.  
  
"What." Falstaff's query was not so much a question as it was a command. The servant, a plain man of average features and a reflexively downward glance held forth a rolled up scroll on a platter. He coughed discretely and bent low to one knee in deference to Falstaff. Irritably Falstaff covered the intervening distance in three long strides and snatched the document from atop the tray. The servant had stretched a quick bow and was gone before the second syllable of "Be gone" was uttered. The seal, like always, was a simple, stylized V. The Master enjoyed such simple mark to adorn his messages. The "V" obviously was for the Name-which-must-not-be-spoken but could also cover a broader range of abstractions. Victory was a popular choice, as was vindication and vow. With agitated haste Falstaff broke the seal and scanned the brief contents of his Master's message.  
  
"I arrive from Wales soon. Assemble all my servants and prepare for my coming."  
  
Quickly Falstaff cast the paper upon the floor and stepped back as the missive erupted in lethal green fire. Intercepting a letter from the Master was no simple task. It was even dangerious if it was to you that it had been addressed. * Soon, not much of a timeframe to work with. I need to think. *  
  
Idly he traced the contours and points of the shooting star-like scar that puckered from the left top of his lip tracing almost back to his ear. Cosmetic Transfiguration was out for now. He couldn't even dream about going to St. Mungo's fixed without fear of being found out. No, his face was too widely know with all the accusations flying through the media. It was is the face that bothered him most. His deformity irked him more than being hunted and being forced to bow to authorities he would likely have ruled had he stilled his hand. His life's work was wasted. He'd remembered happier days, days full of joy and idleness. His ambition had been modest then: a decent salary for a decent life.  
  
By no means did ever think he'd rise as far as he did, in fact if it wasn't for Lucius he would never have risen above the rank of clerk at all. A scant three years ago he'd been a drone in the Goblin Liaison Office, that was until he'd met Lucius. Lucius taught him not to settle for mere scraps. It was because of the Malfoy's recommendation that Gavin had been able to join the Minister's staff. The distinguished wizard had expressed an interest in him, had seen his potential. He'd meant well, of that Falstaff was certain. There was no way Malfoy could have known Gavin's promotion would estrange him from his fiancé. * Great man, Lucius Malfoy. I owe him so much * He had been reluctant to report his benefactor's suspiciously slow return from the train assault but gratitude could only extend so far. The master's will was tantamount to personal feelings. That was creed of a Deatheater that wished to live in service of Voldemort. Quite suddenly he was jarred out of his musing by the feeling of warm dampness on his cheek and hand. During his tangential thoughts he reopened the wound with his rubbing. The blood dripped freely down from his chin and stained the front of his robe.  
  
*No, there is no way Cecilia would take me back now. I'm am far too disgraced and disfigured to return into her good graces. * Brooded the once respected pureblood. Thoughts of his once betrothed tore him out of his funk. The raw pain at, what he perceived to be a betrayal, filled his veins with ice water. He shut his eyes and centered himself. * The Dark Lord provides all I need. I should not dwell on she-who-betrayed-me. Imagine if I had tainted myself with that mudblood loving bitch. No matter* With that Falstaff dismissed his pain with the indifferent persona he had grown alarming adept at summoning. * The boy though, he could... nay will be a problem. Lucius just doesn't understand. He didn't see the fierceness I did, he didn't fall victim to the boy's wrath. I did. I know. Most importantly I remember it. No, the boy is a power in the making. The Master would be best served by a successful, preemptive strike. But how...." Mused the jilted lover. * No matter, I must prepare for His coming.*  
  
****  
  
The pathway from the Labyrinth was an immense arch-like bridge that extended over the large subterranean lake that Oblanskov simply called "the pool." Despite the diminutive title, the waters extended into the darkness all around Harry and it seemed impossible to plumb their depths. The gentle sound of dripping water was welcome after the deathly stillness of the maze that had led Harry this far. In the distance, between the erratic drops that echoed across the cavernous expanse, the constant yet muted roar of some subterranean cataract filled the silence. Nestled high among the stalactites tracing a haphazard line of light above the arch were crystal beacons of yellow light. The amount of light they projected was intense and it pained Harry to look directly at them but did little, from their perch, to illuminate anything but the merest surface of the pool.  
  
Oblanskov continued his orientation. "Fire is strictly regulated because of the random bursts of natural gas that can sometimes drift through the less secure tunnels. We have monitors for that sort of situation, but the administration has long since erred on the side caution. So we rely," Oblanskov stated as he gestured vaguely upward with a wince, "On less volatile sources of light. Warmth is hardly an issue since the tunnels maintain an naturally comfortable temperature on their own."  
  
"Why the fur clothing then, for the school wardrobe?" queried Harry as he remembered the winter garb of the Durmstrang students last year.  
  
"We have found that, though we funnel sunlight from the surface through a vast network of mirrors, it is less potent in the winter. To avoid depression and widespread mania in the student body, and the faculty as well, weekly excursions topside are scheduled. It is cold enough in the summer at that height. The winters, obviously, are worse here."  
  
"Ah. Were is here, exactly. I mean, I know we are heading to Durmstrang, but where in Bulgaria are we?" asked Harry. He'd been curious of Durmstrang's geographical location since Karkaroff's evasiveness at the Yule Ball. * Come to think of it, I wouldn't know the route to Hogwarts if it hadn't be for the Weasley's flying Ford Anglia.*  
  
"We are, more or less, five hundred feet and descending beneath the Balkan Mountain range. Approximately two hundred miles east from Sofia as the owl flies. Ah but I am thinking you are not here for geography." At this Oblanskov stopped and peered back at his new student. "Enough of the pleasantries, what real questions do you have Mr. Potter? What are you here to learn?"  
  
Harry let out a dry chuckle in response, not really appropriate for one so young. But then, when had Harry ever truly been young? In the dim light he merely stared out with eyes hidden in the shadow caused by his tilted head. "Be at ease, Headmaster. I do not look learn the Dark Arts. I am here to learn only what I need to defend myself."  
  
Oblanskov let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. It was always the concern when transfer students arrived so suddenly on campus. The circumstances of Potter's exile had been explained in detail by his lawyers, but there was always doubts with such a dramatic enrollment. Content, for the moment, with his charge's answer the elder man simply nodded and returned to his forward progress down the stone bridge.  
  
He did not hear Harry final statement which had been muttered softly below the young Wizard's breath. "So I can get what is owed to me." And they continued on.  
  
*****  
  
Percy Weasley sat at his mothers new kitchen table. Harry's enforced windfall had left the Burrow in a much changed state. There was no talk of moving since the rural house hat long been a fixture to the Weasley family. Yet that did not mean Molly and Arthur Weasley had been resistant to renovation. A decade of living just above the poverty line had removed most of the polish from the Weasley ancestral home. This was changing. New, yet tasteful, furniture had been the first change, then new fixtures and a new roof. Finally a couple of specialists had been brought in to finalize the structural charms. All and all the Burrow had never seemed so refreshing. Not that Percy would notice. What time he had not devoted to repairing his relationship Penelope was directed solely towards the large tome that lay open before him.  
  
After Harry's flight from England and his subsequent resignation, Percy had endeavored to learn everything there was to know about the edicts on Exile. Surprisingly, in a occurrence of practically usually not seen in the bureaucracy of Magical Britain, the particulars on exile were found in separate volume of the criminal code. Everything there was to know about the sentence and its formal application appeared in the dusty book that Percy had been studying obsessively. He'd manage to narrow down the particulars of Harry's problem in the past few hours.  
  
With focus that would be enviable to even the strictest Ravenclaw, Percy had poured over the text. * Exile is both a legal sentence and a charm. * Summarized Percy to himself. * The power imbued into a magistrate's final ruling begins the Expatrius Curse which finalizes the moment the banished party leaves the borders of the country. The curse can only be relaxed on the date decided by the convening committee, usually the anniversary of the exile date. From that point on any lawful citizen of Britain is screened from contact with the outcast via the office of Magical Law wherein lies an artifact whose sole purpose is to track any victims of the Expatrius Curse. Direct contact with the exiled party, excepting his local counsel, is an offense against the state as it demonstrates an act of contempt to the courts ruling and is punished in any way decided appropriate to the presiding magistrate.*  
  
"What a bloody mess" Percy Weasley breathed has he surfaced from his study.  
  
"Language Percy!" reprimanded his mother as she shoved a plate of eggs in front of him. Blinking owlishly at the scolding, Percy meekly apologized. Away from the world of legal jargon, Percy was surprised to find himself no longer alone in the kitchen. He'd gotten home around two in the morning after hitting Hogsmeade with Penny and had resolved to spend a few moments more at what he had taken to calling "The Problem." That had been five hours ago and it was, much to Percy's surprise, breakfast time. His father sat at the head of the table with his face hidden behind yesterday's Prophet. Knowing the only response he would receive from his frazzled parent would be a grunt, Percy contented himself to shovel into his mouth the meal his mother had set down.  
  
Arthur Weasley, as Percy very well knew, had been tied up in the many hearings that had been called after news of Fudge's actions had been made public. After the first three days the Minister had all but formally resigned and he now only held the office in trust for the Ministry's chosen successor. There was no easy answer since the allegations of corruption had further splintered whatever unity was forged after Harry's trial. The pure-blood factions had closed ranks and together they had enough power to veto any name put forward. The radicals and liberals did much the same as well with any of the traditionalist's choices. It persisted for the past week and the deadlock was beginning to grow ugly. The Daily Prophet had taken to publishing an extra issues every other day just to get all the news into the public arena.  
  
Between bites of egg and sausage Percy pondered his next course of action. * I really need to head out to Diagon Alley to make sure the Twins haven't blasted if the map yet. But first......* After draining a glass of juice with a relieved sigh, Percy ran up the stairs to get a couple of hours of rest, pausing only to stomp loudly outside Ron's bedroom door.  
  
End 22.  
  
Author Notes:  
Alright. Another one down and I'm done my exams so I'll have substantially more time to devout to my writing. In case your interested I drew inspiration for the Ministry's deadlock from a massive public sector strike happening in my own province. But I digress. Next chapter well be, and I really promise, devoted to the setting of Durmstrang itself. I hope I won't disappoint.  
Oh and I've opted not to post a big list of reviewers anyone and will, in the future, respond to a few of the questions raised in the reviews I receive. The list has become too impersonal and too unmanageable. Any feedback is greatly appreciated and I consider all of you suggestions. Your support makes me want to write more. 


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